


move the world to live your fantasy

by Amie33



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amie33/pseuds/Amie33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She stays still for a while after he’s gone, staring at the empty place where he stood a few minutes ago, the air still smelling like him, his print there, almost imperceptible. She thinks about their short exchange, trying to remember every detail, the tone of his voice, the shape of his fingers, the colour of his skin… She thinks about all the things she knows about him - barely nothing, but then so much - and about all the things she could imagine…<br/>After a while a genuine smile forms on her lips. She knows what was missing in her book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riversonng](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riversonng/gifts).



> Written for the RD ficathon.  
> Based on Susie's prompts : 2) River owns a bookstore. 3) River is a novelist who writes about a man she has seen only a couple times before and she falls in love as she writes about him. 
> 
> SUSIE I LOVE YOU!!!! Those were the best prompts I've ever had, and I really enjoyed my self A LOT writing this fic. I hope you're going to like it as much as I liked working on it. Thanks again, and feel free to give me other prompts whenever you want, those were really amazing.  
> Also HUGE THANKS to Sam for her beta, advice, help, and constant support. I wouldn't have made it without her. I know I've said it a lot, but thank you, honey.

When he enters her shop for the first time, River doesn't even look up. She's been working on her next novel for weeks, and something is bothering her - many things in fact. It feels wrong. The character, the plot, her style, nothing sounds great. She's missing something that could give life to her story, give it a soul, but so far she hasn't found it yet. And it's slowly driving her mad.

She puffs and lays her pen down on her manuscript (she still uses paper. She knows a computer would be easier, faster, but she can't think in front of a screen. She needs the proximity of the rough paper and the feeling of a pen, or even a wooden pencil, to be able to write correctly. Even if it doesn't seem to work for her story in progress.) and looks up at her new customer.

He is wandering in the shop, not really knowing what he's after as he looks from one shelf to another, his hands clasped behind his back. He doesn't seem to have noticed her and she takes advantage of it, looking at him closely. Her attention is first dragged to his jacket, a tweed that looks like it's from another time. It goes with a shirt with patterns she can't really define and, more surprisingly, a pair of red braces and a bowtie (who wears bow ties nowadays?). His face is uncommon, but attractive in a certain way, a chin she can't miss, brown hair which ends with a long fringe that keeps falling into his eyes and which he keeps brushing behind his ear.  He seems to have no eyebrows, which highlights the depth of his eyes, green and full of life, shining both with youth and ancient soul and she's totally incapable of telling his age.

"May I help you, sir?" she finally asks and he jumps in surprise, knocking a pile of books as he abruptly turns to face her, and all the documents are sent over the table and land on the floor with a loud crash. Papers fly in the room as he swears and mumbles apologies. "Shit, sorry, I didn't... it was... you are..." He bends to pick up the books but forgets about the table and knocks his head on it. She can't help but giggle as he groans, more in frustration than in pain - he is the clumsy kind, isn't he? No wonder, she thinks, with those long gangly limbs of his. The idea briefly crosses her mind that maybe he even trips in his own feet sometimes and she can totally picture it.

"I'm sorry, my fault, I scared you," she apologises, forcing herself to stop laughing at him. She leaves her place behind her desk and kneels next to him to help him gather the books on the floor.

“I’m usually not so easy to scare,” he points out, still slightly embarrassed, his gaze not even meeting hers. Shy and clumsy, she mentally notes. She doesn’t know why, but she feels something interesting in this man, definitely attractive. Purely for writing purposes she tells herself. If she caricatures a bit his gestures and his fashion style, he could become a great character - or maybe she doesn’t even have to caricature them. He seems to be totally different from anybody she knows, coming out of nowhere and by chance entering her bookshop the moment she was looking for something new. It’s fate, isn’t it?

“You seem focused on the books and you probably didn't see me… I’m sorry I should have been more careful,” she keeps apologising, taking pity at the slight blush of his ears - shy, clumsy, and blushing, oh she loves him already. “I’ll try to be, next time.” He turns his head as the words come out, finally meeting her eyes, and once again she’s caught by them. There’s something in them she can’t define, like an old mystery, secrets of a lifetime, so deep and green she could get lost in them. Her mind immediately starts wandering about who he could be, what he’s doing, what he’s lived that gave him such a unique look. Does he have a family? Has he lost someone? Was it a lost love? Did he have a difficult childhood? Or is he just a normal guy and she’s imagining everything - it could be, she’s a writer, it’s her job, making stories where there is nothing.

He opens his mouth to answer, but changes his mind and instead takes the last book off the floor. They stand up together and she begins to carefully put the books back on their pile. “So, you didn’t answer my question.” she changes the subject and he blinks at her.

“Sorry? What question? Did you ask --”

“I wondered if you needed help.” Inside, the question has another meaning. She wants to know, does he need help not only to find a book, but also in his life - does he need something different, something new? Does he need a bit of magic, a bit of fantasy?

“I, err…” he starts speaking as her mind keeps wandering, studying him carefully as he scratches the back of his head nervously. “I was looking for…” His gaze slides against the different tables and bookshelves of the shop and she smiles. He looks totally lost in here. “Actually,” he finally decides himself, taking the books she still has in hand and holding out one of them, “this one will be perfect.”

She looks at the title he has picked up and frowns at him, not knowing if she has to stay serious or laugh again. “History of telephone boxes?” She finally goes for a giggle, because she can’t help it. This man keeps surprising her.

“What’s wrong with them?” He places his free hand on his heart, pretending to be offended by her laugh but she knows at the tone of his voice he’s joking. “Telephone boxes are cool.”

“You’re the customer, you buy what you want, I’ll always agree.”

He smiles at her for the first time and she tries to print the image on her mind, the delicate line of his mouth, the way his cheeks rise, the little lines around his eyes… With his fringe falling once again in front of his eyes, he’s absolutely adorable.

She takes back the book and he follows her to her desk, where she scans the book and looks for its price.

“Can you…” he stops and hesitates, and she waits patiently for him to finish his sentence. He needs time to gather his ideas, she notices, it’s not the first time he interrupts himself in the middle of a sentence. “Can you wrap it, please?”

“A gift?”

“Sort of.” She frowns, wondering what could be ‘a sort of a gift’, but she knows better than not to ask. She turns and rummages behind the desk, looking for wrapping paper and giving him a choice of three of them – a deep blue, a bright pink, and a more neutral beige. He hesitates for a few seconds before settling for the blue. She doesn’t know why, but the colour seems to suit him.

She can feel his gaze on her as she wraps the book, his eyes following the movement of her hands, but it doesn’t feel embarrassing. She suggests a ribbon to him and he takes a red one, which happens to match his bowtie and braces; she doesn’t know if it’s on purpose or if he just likes the colour. She curls it and asked if he wants to add a card, but he refuses, blushing once again and she isn’t really sure why. Is the gift for a girlfriend, a mistress maybe (but she can’t picture him giving a book about telephone boxes to one of his lovers)? Or an old annoying aunt (that would explain the boring book…)? Or does he have a secret collection of wrapped books in his flat, that he never opens, never reads, just keeps for himself (that would seem a bit creepy, but who knows?)

He holds out a few bills as she finishes, before taking the book and heading to the exit. He stops near the door, turning back to her. His mouth opens, like he’s about to say something, but closes it the next second. He lays his eyes on her, something nostalgic, maybe sad in them, and she doesn’t understand. He smiles then, but his smile doesn’t reach the corner of his eyes, like there’s still this sadness lingering.

“Thank you,” he murmurs and she smiles back.

“My pleasure.”

He steps out then, the door closing behind him and she can watch him from the window shop as he leaves. She stays still for a while after he’s gone, staring at the empty place where he stood a few minutes ago, the air still smelling like him, his print there, almost imperceptible. She thinks about their short exchange, trying to remember every detail, the tone of his voice, the shape of his fingers, the colour of his skin… She thinks about all the things she knows about him - barely nothing, but then so much - and about all the things she could imagine…

After a while a genuine smile forms on her lips. She knows what was missing in her book.


	2. Chapter 2

River spends the next week taking notes and working on her novel - she’s let go of the previous one and has started a totally different story. The mysterious customer will be the major character of this new one, but she isn’t sure what she wants to do with it yet. The story has to fit him, a bit out of time, old and young, unusual, and she hasn’t found the right plot. So she writes everything she can, taking notes about him when she remembers a detail of their encounter, the way he blinks, the pattern of his veins, the corner of his mouth. She imagines him a life, events he could have lived, thinking of different possibilities and not making her mind up yet on what she wants, writing so she doesn’t forget anything and so she can decide what the best is at the right moment.

She has been writing for a few years now, and has published a couple of novels, but none have been a great success. A few hundred printings, barely enough to pay for the champagne bottle she opened when her first book went out. But even if she wasn’t selling anything, even if there wasn’t a single publisher to accept her novels, she would keep writing on and on. The urge to create and write is always too strong to be fought, and she has never tried to. She always has new plots, new characters, new stories forming in her mind, all the time. Writing is her passion, and she’s lucky to have a job that mixes her love for books with the possibility for her to write. So when she is putting new books on the shelves, doing her inventory, helping her clients or looking for new titles to buy, her mind keeps wandering on her on-going project, and when she has a calm moment, she takes a pen and paper and she writes.

She has started a notebook for this story, because somehow she knows that she will need to separate this novel from her previous ones. Every book is different, of course, but she feels like this one will be special. Maybe it’s the fact that her inspiration comes from a real encounter she had with a real person - she has written about people she knew or met before, but it has never been one so important. This man is the mere reason of the story, the most important character, the plot has to be around him and his personality… In a way, he _is_ the story.

It’s a few weeks after their initial meeting that she hears about him again, and that’s the moment when the last details of her plot finally appear clearly to her. She is reading the different ads and posters left  in her mailbox, trying to decide which one she’ll tear up and which one she’ll put on her door to inform the passers-by, when suddenly a picture catches his eye. There is no way she can be wrong - it’s him. She hastily picks the paper from the others and reads it carefully.

It’s a paper from the local University, announcing the different lectures of the trimester that are opened to the public. In between others, there’s a picture of him, smiling, wearing almost the same suit he had when he came into her shop. It comes with a little text she quickly reads.

" _Professor John Smith,_ " the paper says, " _graduate Professor of Physics and Astronomy, part time consultant for different national agencies, will give a series of conferences on the theme of time travel throughout the year. Far from the usual, his lectures will open you up to a whole new world of possibilities, theories and proofs based on his most recent works. First session Monday the 8th._ " There follows the list of his different lectures of the year and directions to find the rooms in the University.

She stares at the paper for a long time, not knowing if she should snort or take this seriously. So her customer - John Smith, she says it out loud, a bit disappointed her mysterious man has such a common name - is an Academic Professor, a specialist on time travel... In a way it suits him she thinks, and explains maybe why he seems to be out of time. Maybe he is an actual time traveller, his machine broken, stuck in this era without the technology to go back home, trying to survive as he can, doing what he's best at - physics.

She smiles, the beginning of a plot forming in her head. Maybe he's not a time traveller, but he could be, if she decides so. And surely he will be.

She lets go of the paper, grabbing her notebook and writing before she loses every idea that is coming as the story forms in her head. Her main character will be a time traveller, wandering alone in time and space, and of course he will find someone - a _lover_ , someone to help him and understand him, someone like him… Maybe she could be a time traveller too. Or maybe… maybe it could be more complicated. A back-to-front love story maybe, with a bit of tragedy?

It’s hours later that she finally looks up from her notebook, all the major elements of her story in place, waiting for her to turn them into a novel. But it can wait, she needs time to think and to let the plot sink in before she can write the first scene - and everything after. She glances at the paper, John’s picture still looking at her and she takes it carefully between her hands.

It’s a public lecture, in a public University. Everybody can go, they even make posters and flyers to promote it. She can go - she _should_ go. Listen to him, take more notes about him, study him to make his character more accurate. He doesn’t have to see and probably wouldn’t recognise her anyway. She would be just another person among the others; sitting at the back row of the room… She’s free at the time and date of the first lecture, she should go. She only intends to go to this one lecture, but considers there is always the option of attending the whole series if she needs more material for her story, or if the subject of his lecture is exceptionally interesting.

Of course, there’s also the risk that knowing him too well might kill all his mystery, and then she won’t be able to create a character or write a story about him, especially if he happens to be absolutely boring in real life. But it’s a risk she’s willing to take. It’s a possibility, but a part of her knows, deep inside, that it won’t happen - she won’t be disappointed. The few elements she knows about him tell her the contrary. If she’s lucky, the more she learns about him, the more interesting he will become, and that’s the only motivation she needs.

Her decision made, she folds the paper and slides it into her pocket, noting the date on her calendar. Monday, the 8th, she has a date with the major character of her new novel.

x.

She finds the room of his lecture room easily, and is surprised when she arrives to see there are already lots of people waiting for him. She manages to find a seat in the last rows, far away enough not to be noticed, but that allows her to have a direct view on the dais. She will be able to watch him and takes notes, like everyone around her or so it seems, except that she’ll pay attention more to the man than the subject of his lecture.

Waiting for the conference to begin, she looks around her. There are lots of students, or so it seems to her, young men and a few women. Some people are older, and they must be some colleagues of John’s - _Professor Smith_ \- or surely professionals (she could tell, just by the way they look like, their suits, their briefcases, the way their glasses are perched on their noses, and if she looks closely to their hands, there is no doubt they are working in labs with latex gloves that hurt their skins, dry with little creases between their joints; some of them even have chalk dust on their sleeves). She also notices a few people who don’t look like they’re from the University, people who must have seen the posters and have come to listen to him like her… And of course, there are also one or two of them who don’t seem to be here for the serious part of the subject, dressed as characters from movies and tv-shows. She wonders what he might think about them; will he find them creepy? Will he wish they didn’t come to his lectures, or is he flattered by their presence and will he try to use their passions as a way to teach them a bit of science?

She opens her notebook, takes notes and sketches a few people she finds interesting and might want to include in her plot (if not in this story, maybe they would fit in another one). As she scans the room she can’t help but wonder what people would see in her. She’s a woman, alone in a crowd made up mostly of people of science; she who lives surrounded by literature and books and things that seem to be a hundred miles from physics and time travel. She’s only here to take notes and try to learn things about a man she’s seen only once in her life, and who she has decided to make the hero of her next novel. It’s a bit weird, she’s aware of that, and awkward; it could be almost embarrassing if she had to explain what she’s doing here exactly. She’s suddenly very grateful nobody will recognise her. She’s tied her hair up in an attempt to control it (usually her curls fall wildly on her shoulders, and it’s even worse if it’s been raining), changed from her daily jeans and plain t-shirt she wears when she works for a light dress, put make-up on… No, nobody will recognize her, neither will Professor Smith, and she’ll be able to watch him without worry.

Lost in her thoughts, she realises barely he has finally entered the room, except for the loud noise he makes as he misses the last stairs of the dais and almost falls on the floor. She smiles instantly - she knew she was right, he _does_ trip over his own feet. The blush that creeps on his cheeks is a sight she doesn’t want to forget, and it totally fits her memories of him. As he approaches the stand and taps on the microphone, clearing his throat before he speaks, all the doubts she could have disappear; he won’t disappoint her.

And he doesn’t.

He seems a bit shy at the beginning, looking for his words and babbling a bit, but as the lecture goes on, he gets more and more confident, and most of all, passionate. It’s obvious he knows what he’s talking about, and he likes it - no, he _loves_ it. He can’t help but gesture a lot, like he’s living what he’s saying. Generally his body is a wonderful gift to her writing, and she keeps taking notes of how he moves, how he winces or smiles, trying to guess what makes him happy and what annoys him. But after a moment she just stops looking at the man, his lecture so interesting that her attention is captured by his words. She doesn’t understand half of what he’s saying, the vocabulary too technical, but she can see he does try to be understood by everybody, and she writes down a few of his metaphors. Mostly his lecture is about the physical and technological aspects of time travel, but he explains the following sessions will also discuss the philosophical, literary, artistic, economic, political aspects of the subject, and she’s more than willing to hear them. He seems to have a very deep and varied background.

It makes her think about the book he bought when she saw him for the first time, the one about telephone boxes, another side of him, another piece of his character, and writes it in a corner of her notebook.

After almost an hour he stops speaking and faces the crowd, asking the public if there are questions. She isn’t surprised when a dozen hands are raised. He answers every one of them, patiently, as passionate as he was during his lecture. More questions come, the dozen turning into fifteen, twenty, and she loses the count as they keep arriving. She totally understands why people are so willing to talk to him: listening to his voice is hypnotic, you just want him to speak forever.

The exchange lasts more than the actual lecture, and she takes this opportunity to notice more details. How his fingers curl at the lapel of his jacket. How he always moves so he can see the person he’s answering. How his eyes shine on certain subjects. The funny angle of his leg when he walks.

She’s almost disappointed when he finally asks for the last question. She knows it’s late and he’s probably exhausted (he doesn’t look like it, but if she looks closely enough she can see a slight line at the corner of his eyes that wasn’t there before, and he seems to breathe more deeply…) but she could have stayed there the whole night. When he thanks the audience she claps with everybody, until her hands hurt. As she packs her things, she can’t help but notice the large amount of pages she has filled tonight, with so much information and details she knows, the only thing she has to do now is come back home, makes a cup of tea, and begin to write.


	3. Chapter 3

_Today was the day everything changed._

_Everybody would think that such important days would be always announced; that people would get an instinct, would feel it as they woke up, something tickling their neck, a feeling growing inside their chest, their skin shivering in anticipation. But it rarely happened. As a matter of fact, she didn’t get any of those signs. Today was the day everything changed, and she had no idea._

_It started like every other day. It’d been the same routine for weeks, months, years. She’d been tracking him down, collecting evidence of where he had been, where he was, always missing him, always late. She almost had him once, in Berlin, 1945, a night of terror and chaos. She had caught his eyes briefly, run after him for a couple of minutes while people shouted and fought and died around them, until she lost him. It would have been a good night to kill him, she had thought; war and destruction, the last murders before the beginning of a new era, brighter, happier. For her, for History. Yes, it would have been a perfect night._

_Her failure didn’t discourage her. She kept running after him, collecting more evidence, talking with witnesses, following his path. Paris, 1789. Roma, 44 AD. America, 1492. Moon, 2070. And more planets, more times, always important events. He loved that, being there, making History,_ changing _History. And it had to stop. He was a threat to the whole universe. Things weren’t balanced anymore. She needed to stop him, before it was too late, before he destroyed everything; before he wounded time itself._

_Every time she lost hope, every time she felt like she couldn’t do it, every time she wanted to stop, she remembered this. She didn’t do it because she was forced to; even if they had been very persuasive, the threats didn’t work on her. What worked was her utter conviction that they were right. He was dangerous, too dangerous to be kept alive. He had to die, and she would make sure it happened._

_She had followed him and missed him so many times she had stopped counting. So when he finally appeared in front of her, almost by accident, as if he was running not away from her, but in her direction, she had a second of doubt, when she didn’t remember what she had to do and how to do it. But it didn’t last long enough for him to turn back and escape her, not again. She took her gun, aimed, and shot._

_Today was the day everything changed. Today was the day she killed the Doctor._

x.

She looks at the first page of her novel, reading her words with that amazement she always feels when the story that stays in her mind for a long time finally comes to life. She doesn’t like all the words, some phrasing will have to be changed, but it looks good, it sounds good.

She finishes editing the last typos, and goes back to the writing. 

x.

_“You’re amazing.” The words left his mouth the moment she pulled the trigger, and she almost missed them. The detonation echoed, a red strain rapidly forming on his shirt proving she hit her target._

_The Doctor’s face didn’t show any surprise, or shock. It was like he was_ waiting _for her to shoot him, had expected it. A smile formed on his lips - how could he be smiling as she’d just struck him dead? - and he fell back on the ground._

_She approached the body; gun pointed in his direction in case he was faking and this was nothing but a trap. But there was no doubt as she reached him, his skin already turning paler and his breath quickening, it would be over soon. Maybe she could help him and make it faster, spare him long painful minutes - she was his murderer, but she could show a bit of compassion. She loaded her gun again, and aimed for his head._

_“Melody,” he breathed her name out and she froze. It shouldn’t surprise her that he knew her name. She had been chasing him for so long, he must have made his own inquiries into who might want him dead and who they might hire. But there was something in his tone, far from everything she would have expected; tenderness._

_“You’re amazing,” he sputtered, his pain obvious. She recognised the words he had said earlier, and she still didn’t understand. Why was he telling her this? Why didn’t he curse her, yell at her, beg her to save his life?_

_She lowered her gun, her eyes meeting his and she could read emotions that shouldn’t be there; admiration, love, and a bit of pity too but not for him, for her._

_“Why would you say that?” she asked, because she needed to know._

_“Because…” he coughed, drops of blood on his lips as more flew out of his wound and dripped to the floor, tracing colourful patterns on the ground, “I know you.” He paused, his eyes shining like she had never seen any dying person’s eyes shine before. “I love you.”_

_Her mouth opened, unable to form any word, and then she started to laugh. Of course, he would fall on her; the man she had to kill. Or perhaps he was some kind of crazy madman who was trying to mess with her emotions to save his pitiful life... Either way, he was running out of time._

_“Stop it. It won’t work with me.”_

_Hurt crossed his eyes for a second, so quick she thought she had imagined it. And then it was gone, and he was smiling again - this infuriating smile, she wanted him to be dead right now just so she wouldn’t see his smile anymore._

_“No. You don’t understand. You can’t. You will one day.” He stopped, hissing in pain, his fingers curling around the lapel of his jacket, now soaked with his blood. “You will see me again, and you will understand. It is true; I love you, and you will love me.”_

_She laughed again at that, the thought totally impossible. “I hate you.” She said the words with her whole heart, feeling the power of the truth through them. And yet there were tears streaming down her face, and she didn’t understand why._

_“No, you don’t,” he responded, so sure of himself it was disconcerting, even for her. His next - and last - words were even more. “And I want you to know, you are forgiven. Always and completely forgiven.”_

_She gaped at him as a last breath left his lips, leaving her alone. It took her a while before she could think again, shaking her head and ignoring the tears on her face. She put her gun back in its holster and knelt close to his form. She studied his face, surprisingly peaceful now that it was over. Her hand reached out to close his eyes, and with them the secrets he was holding._

x.

River lays her pen down as she writes the last word of this chapter, her vision blurred by the tears that have somehow found their way into her eyes. She wipes them away with the back of her hands, sniffing.

It’s hard to imagine the scene and she has too many details in her head not to be affected. John as the Doctor, lying on the cold ground, dead. Melody, totally unaware of what she’s just done… And unlike her, River totally knows who the Doctor is, will be for her fictional counterpart, she knows how it’s going to torture her for the rest of the story. Each time she will see him again, each time their eyes will meet she will remember this last moment, her guilt a burden that will follow her until the end.

River is glad some things only belong to fictional universe.

x.

_Melody thought she would be free after the Doctor’s death, but she was not. She had been caught, and the same people who encouraged her to kill him had let her down. She found herself in prison for a murder everybody had expected, wanted, wished. But it wasn’t the irony of this situation that annoyed her the most. She didn’t care about it, she didn’t kill the Doctor for anyone but her, and prison walls would never keep her for long anyone. No, what bothered her the most were the Doctor’s last words, and it was a worse prison than a concrete cell._

_She couldn’t believe it. He was dead, and still he was ruling her life, poisoning her mind. She scolded herself for being so weak. She tried to stop thinking about it, to ignore the feeling burning inside her chest - a feeling she couldn’t even define precisely. A sense of loss, a bit of guilt, curiosity to know what he had meant, frustration of having all the answers gone, for ever._

_He told her he forgave her. Why would he do that? She killed him, how could he possibly forgive her for such a crime (when even the people who were happy about his death couldn’t?)? It could have been a lie, but the more she thought about it, the more she doubted it was. There was something with this man, the way he looked at her, the way he talked to her, like he knew her - not only her name and what she was facing him for, but really, intimately_ knew _her. It was a conviction growing inside her, and the bigger it got, the more she hated herself for showing such weakness. It was only a fantasy. It never was and would never be true. They hadn’t really met before she killed him, and now he was dead; they would never get to know each other._

_Staying in her cell for too long made her think too much, always those thoughts about him and her and the few words they had exchanged, and so every now and then she escaped. Every prison, even a high-security like Stormcage, had its weaknesses; guards, walls, tunnels… Every time she escaped they reinforced the system, but still she ran - and she always came back. Where else could she go? She had no home, no family left, no friends. Nothing was waiting for her outside, no one but the warden of the prison. As pitiful as it was, it was all she had now._

_So she kept escaping. Finding one place or another, one time or another where she could have fun, forget about her situation, about her pointless life. Sadly, she realised killing the Doctor had always been her only goal, the only thing keeping her alive, the only aim she was fighting for. Now he was dead, and the satisfaction of having her task accomplished didn’t feel as fulfilling as she hoped. She realised she hadn’t planned anything for after, and now, what was she supposed to do? She ran, she drank, she fought in bars, sometimes she found another employer and killed (because she needed the money, because it was the only thing she could do). And then she was back in prison, and the loneliness and emptiness she had tried to fight came back to her, more painful each time._

_And the Doctor, still in her mind._

_The first time she met him, after his death, she thought it was a trick of her mind - she thought so much about him, despite her efforts not to, she guessed she had just finally gone mad. It was only her imagination. She caught a glimpse of a tweed jacket, the back of a head, hair that could have belonged to nobody but him. Still the apparition struck her, and she stopped running, changing her direction to go after the shadow he left (it was just a break for the one she was chasing in the first place; she found him two hours later, and he could never run again). It was silly, she knew, but she had to know._

_She ran in his direction, following the form walking a few meters in front of her. There were lots of people, it was Sunday morning, flower market, and despite all her elbowing and swearing (people shouted at her but she wouldn’t apologise, caught by the vision she was chasing after), she couldn’t catch him up. She thought she heard a noise, like an engine purring, but when she turned the corner, he had disappeared. It was a dead end, empty. She turned back, stared at the crowd in case he was still there and she had been mistaken… but she couldn’t see him. He was gone._

_She went back to the dead end, after her contract was accomplished. She smelt the air and touched the wall, hoping they would give her an answer, but she couldn’t find anything. When she came back to her cell that night, she couldn’t sleep, visions of his hair and back and legs in front of her, a dream she could never reach._

_There was no doubt when she met him the second time. It was him. The Doctor. In flesh and bone, standing in front of her like he had the day she killed him, smiling. Totally impossible._

_“Hello.”_

_She raised her gun and he stopped walking a few feet away from her. “Melody?” He murmured her name with tenderness, love, words she was not accustomed to, words she didn’t want to be used to._

_“Stop!” she shouted at him, refusing to acknowledge the trembling of her voice, the trembling of her hands. “Don’t come closer. You can’t be here. You’re dead. I killed you.”_

_Something flinched in his eyes. For a second she could see sadness. Pity. And then, surprisingly, acceptance._

_“The last time you saw me, you killed me?” His tone was calm, much calmer than her._

_“Yes.”_

_He sighed, running a hand into his hair and over his face. “You can’t say that.”_

_“You’re dead. I killed you. I killed you, and then I watched as your body burnt. You’re dead. You can’t be here.” She knew she was repeating herself, but it seemed for her to be the only way to hold onto reality._

_“No, no, you don’t understand. There are rules. You and me, we are back to front. Your past is my future. Your firsts are my lasts.”_

_There it was, again, the sadness._

_“I don’t understand. It can’t be possible.”_

_“Of course it can.” He was patient, talking to her with gentleness, and then he seemed to completely ignore the fact that she was still pointing a gun in his direction. “I’m a time-traveller, and so are you.”_

_“I’m not…”_

_“You are. You’re chasing me all around time and space to catch me… And then escaping your prison and living wherever and whenever you can. You are like me.”_

_“I am not like you.” Anger grew inside her chest as his words. She wasn’t like him. She refused to be. She would never ever accept it._

_And his only answer was a smile, again, and this strange certainty in his eyes. It made her shudder under his look, and she hated herself a bit more for that._

_“I’m a time traveller,” he continued where she had stopped him. “I can be dead, but other versions of me are still running across the universe, younger versions, and they are running with you. Only in opposite directions. The more you’ll meet me, the more you’ll know about me, and the less I’ll know about you. Until one day you’ll see me and it’ll be my first time, and you’ll never meet me again.”_

_The words weren’t said, but she guessed them. It was the same for him. The more he saw her, the less she knew him… And the next time he would meet her would be her first time - so it’d be his last. And he’d die._

_It seemed impossible, but it would explain a lot. Why he seemed to know her. Why he said he forgave her. Why he said he loved her..._

_“Why?” she asked, because she had to. She needed to know, to hear it from him._

_“I don’t know.”_

_There was honesty, at least, in their exchange._

_“No. The first time I saw you, you told me you loved me. Why?”_

_His eyes left her, looking at some point upon her shoulder. She wondered if the solution was written somewhere behind her and she couldn’t see it._

_“Because it’s true.”_

_“No!”_ _She raised her gun in his direction with trembling hands and an increased determination._ _She didn’t know why, but somehow his answer made her angry. It was impossible. It was against everything she had ever been told or taught. “You can’t love me. I killed you. You should hate me. Hate me!”_

_She didn’t know why she was so emotional. He was nobody. Just a man she used to chase and who died by her hand. He was nothing. So why would she get upset with him? Why would she expect anything from him?_

_“But I don’t…” He whispered the words, the same words he told her before he died. “Not anymore.”_

_He smiled at her, and brushed away the gun she was now pointing against his chest. “Don’t worry. You will understand.”_

_And with that he turned on his heels, and walked away. She didn’t try to stop him, watching him as he left. Killing him a second time wouldn’t help; maybe letting him live would?_

_As he disappeared, she made a silent prayer. She wished he was wrong. She never wanted to understand. She wouldn’t love him back. Never._

_She didn’t know yet, that it was already too late._


	4. Chapter 4

River has been working on her novel for about two months now. In her novel, Melody is slowly discovering the Doctor, meeting him every now and then as he has promised, and the more they meet, the more she learns about him. When her fictional counterpart isn’t with the Doctor, she’s looking after him. Not necessarily him, in flesh and bone, but also looking for evidence about him. She reads again all the documents she had gathered before she killed him. She interrogates new witnesses. She tries a different angle, listens differently, asks other questions. And what she finds isn’t what she had the first time. He has his flaws, of course, but he isn’t as evil as she thought. River’s story is dealing with Melody changing her opinion and the reader, following her point of view, will learn a bit more about the Doctor with her.

As for reality, even if River doesn’t learn more concrete information about John (she tries to think about him as Professor Smith, she really tries, but she doesn’t seem to be able to call him differently but by his first name), still ignoring his personal history, his hobbies, where he lives and what his favourite colour is, she learns to decipher him. She reads the little creases around his lips or upon his eyes, she understands the movement of his hands and the trembling of his fingers, she notes the different tones of his voice. She knows when he’s happy, tired, angry, embarrassed.

She tries to write all those little details in the Doctor, and creates the rest. She knows she is putting too many elements from the real perso into the character, just as she is putting too much of herself into Melody. She even gave her her name (Melody Pond is a poor disguise for River Song), her physical shape, some of her character’s traits… And she adds some other details that belong to her story with John and that nobody will ever understand - at least she hopes. His ship is a blue telephone box; it reminds her of the book John has bought and the colour of the wrapping paper he chose. The Doctor’s clumsy in an adorable way. He always wears the same suit, which is the one John had when they met. He carries a screwdriver, a tool John talked about in his second lecture and she doesn’t even remember why…

There’s a voice in her mind murmuring her she should stop putting so much of herself, and so much of him in her novel. What would he say if he reads the book when it’s published and recognises himself? There is little chance it might happen, she’s not such a famous author, but can’t help but wonder. She is also aware she’s playing a very dangerous game, writing her character as she falls in love when there are so many common points between her fiction and reality. But she knows it’s too late for her to turn back. The story has made its way into her mind and won’t let her go before the last word is written.

This is why she is sitting once again in the same auditorium, waiting for his next lecture to begin. It’s mid-November now, the weather is turning grey and cold, there hasn’t been snowing yet but it should come soon. She’s hiding herself under a woollen bobble hat and a giant scarf, her fingers wrapped in gloves. The difference of temperature between outside and the room makes her cheeks burn, and she rubs her hands together to warm them up. She’s early, as usual, and as usual there are already people waiting. There are always the same people, more or less, and it feels more and more familiar to come. Almost like a second home.

She takes her usual seat and gathers her notes, taking her notebook out of her large bag to edit the last chapter she’s been working on. It doesn’t really look like a real book anymore; there are bits of paper she had tucked in between the pages, its blue cover has been marked by lots of scratches by dints from being carried everywhere, there are a few stains of coffee and tea that fell on it one night or another when she was up late to finish a paragraph… It doesn’t look very attractive, but she likes it that way, because it’s full of her story, full of clues of her work and the passion she’s been working with, full of life.

The usual man sitting next to her arrives and she smiles at him, closing her book. It’s not that she doesn’t want people to know what she’s doing, but she always feels overly protective with her on-going project. She doesn’t want anyone to read it before it is over - apart from her publisher who keeps asking for proofs of her work, and even then she always reluctantly complies. He loved the first chapter of the novel she’s sent him last week, telling her she has gold in her hands and even if she does feel happy he’s so excited, she doesn’t dare to trust his rush of compliments. He’s her agent; it’s his job to encourage her. She’s taken notes of his comments, though she knows she won’t follow half of his recommendations. _No, Howard, I won’t change his suit. Yes, it has to be a telephone box. Because._ She remembered how she insisted some of the weird traits of the Doctor remain the same… As dangerous as it can be, it won’t be her story anymore if her character doesn’t look like the real man.

Said real man enters the room and River’s eyes are immediately glued on him. He’s changed his usual tweed suit for a deep purple jacket tonight and she frowns. It is not only his clothes that are darker; he seems tired, and a bit sad. The smile he greets the audience with when he starts to speak doesn’t totally reach his eyes. His voice is lower than usual, and he doesn’t seem as focused as he usually his, like he’s thinking of something else while speaking.

She follows his demonstration with interest, and tries to forget his bad mood in exchange for the subject he’s dealing with today. He’s explaining the three theories of time travel, and she’s too busy taking lots of notes to lift her head from her notebook for the next hour.

 _Let’s imagine you can go back in time. What are the consequences of your actions?_ she writes excitedly. _The first theory is: you create a paradox - or paradoxes. Whatever you do changes the way things were in the first place, and it’s a never ending-circle of what should have happened and what is happening instead._

_The second one is: you create a different universe. Some people think it happens each time we make a choice; in our universe, you’re still making the same choice, while in the other universe, you make its opposite. If you go back in time and change something, you just create another universe; another choice._

_The last one is: nothing can change. Whatever you do, it happened and will happen and always happens this way. Even if you try to change things, you wouldn’t succeed - or it’s in trying to change things that_ _you_ _will provoke said things to happen. The reality is fixed and can’t be rewritten._

John’s demonstration relies on lots of examples, and River tries to take in as many of them as she can. She feels like her head is burning and ready to blow up, some of the theories a bit complicated and very tricky. But it’s all very interesting and will help her story, a lot. She almost forgets John’s initial sadness as he talks, his love for the subject obvious and it seems to cheer him up a bit.

The time for questions finally comes, and she glances at her watch realising the lecture has been longer than usual, almost one hour and a half; but nobody seems to complain. There are lots of hands raised, as she expected, and he starts answering the questions, explaining again some of the points he has talked about earlier, adding new examples - and being as patient as always.

Someone, a young student a few rows in front of River’s, a girl she has already noticed, eventually asks Professor Smith what his own theory is, which one he thinks is more likely to be the right one in his opinion. River instantly focuses on John, avid to have his point of view (it’ll help a lot to define the Doctor’s), and she doesn’t miss the darkness that seems to be back in his eyes. It only lasts a second, before he smiles and answers.

“Well,” he begins, “you have to understand it’s only my own opinion, and I will only give you it because you asked nicely.” He winks and the audience laughs. “I think…” He hesitates, looking at his notes for a second, and when he talks again his voice is quieter. “I think everything is fixed. I think I could go back in time and try to change an historic event, I believe I wouldn’t succeed. I could try to change even something more insignificant - my life for example, or yours… I think I’ll never do anything but help things to be as they are today. I don’t believe you can change anything.”

There’s something grave in the way he says those words, and for a second the whole room is silent. Everybody must be thinking of their own lives, what they wish they could change… John too, she can tell, and once again she wonders what it is with him today. She guesses she’ll never know.

“Next question?” He finally breaks the silence and keeps his questions and answers until he finally ends the lecture. People start to leave and she’s a bit long gathering her papers, still frowning as she worries about John’s state. She silently scolds herself, knowing it’s not her problem and she shouldn’t even try to guess what’s bothering him. But then she raises her head from her things as she finally stands up, bag in hand and hat in the other, and his eyes meet hers.

She feels like she stops breathing, too scared to move, afraid he recognises her - afraid he doesn’t. But he just stares at her, his green eyes dark and deep, unreadable. She opens her mouth, looking for something to say, feeling her heart beating madly inside her chest as he seems to take a step in her direction.

A man appears in front of her, breaking whatever it is that was happening between them, congratulating the professor for his lecture and asking him more questions. John smiles at him and shakes his hand, and if he glances at River again, she doesn’t see it, too busy exiting the room. She walks quickly in the cold, her hot breath turning into little clouds of fog as she crosses the campus, not daring to look behind her until she reaches her car. Of course, he hasn’t followed her, and there is nobody around her but the last people from his lecture coming back home.

Her hands are shaking as she opens her door and she swears, scolding herself for being so stupid. She doesn’t know if it’s because she almost got caught by him, or if it’s because she ran away before having heard what she felt he wanted to tell her.


	5. Chapter 5

_“Melody!”_

_The Doctor’s voice echoed in her ear, and she didn’t have the time to turn back before he pushed her, sending them both on the ground as the nearest wall exploded, bricks and stones dropping around them. She felt the protective weight of him upon her as dust gathered around them, and for a few seconds neither of them moved._

_“You okay?” he finally whispered and she nodded. The next second she pushed him off of her, crawling to the next safe place (an old truck long abandoned). He shook his head and ran, ducking under the bullets that kept flying around them, until he could sit next to her._

_She met him more and more often; sometimes by accident, sometimes he called for her, and every now and then she was the one to ask for his help. Her point of view had totally changed now, and she had grown as she had learned about him, and to like him. She had also understood she could be someone else, help the universe without killing - or only when it was necessary, like today, when they found themselves in a battle and it was a ‘killed or be killed’ situation._

_She refused to acknowledge he was surely the one causing those changes in her. Most of the time she also refused to admit how her feelings for him had changed - because she knew, even if she had him now, she killed him in, would always kill him at the end, and who was she if she could learn to like him after that? But inside the feelings kept growing, despite her constant fight against them. Most of the time the fight consisted of shouting at him, hurt always showing in his eyes as she did and it did nothing but to increase her guilt, and the guilt did nothing but to remind her how she cared about him now. This was why this time she decided not to say anything, instead focusing on their target._

_They were in the middle of a city torn apart by a war. Most of the people had been in town when the battle began, and only a few civilians could escape before soldiers began to shoot and blow up buildings. Melody and the Doctor had tried to save everyone they could, and they had already managed to bring a few of them far from the battle. But the fights were more intense now, the city turning into ruins, and it was more and more difficult to make their way between the explosions._

_In front of them, a few yards to the north end of the street, were the remnants of a school - or maybe an orphanage; or a gym club. It was hard to tell now. But there were children, and even with the noises of the war Melody could hear them crying for help. It made her blood freeze in her veins. She knew those children belonged to the losing side of the war, and she knew what would happen to them if they didn’t manage to save them (it was an advantage, but also a curse, to be a time traveller; you knew how things were going to happen). They had to bring them somewhere safe._

_Except in the few yards between the truck where she and the Doctor were hidden, and the building where the children were trapped, different groups of soldiers were fighting, bullets and grenades flying and it was impossible to cross. They had tried to bypass the street but couldn’t find another way, and now they were back to their first location. So close, and yet so far._

_“We should go back to the TARDIS,” the Doctor declared as she inspected the road for a hundredth time._

_“We can’t,” she simply replied, not wanting to think about the possibility of running away now, refusing to acknowledge he could have even have thought about it._

_“We don’t have any choice. We would never be able to cross.”_

_She didn’t reply anything, her eyes scanning the area, her brain working as fast as his could to calculate all the possibilities._

_“If I run here,” she pointed out a little spot in front of her, “and then jump over this, and duck under the arch over there, I can reach them.”_

_He followed the movement of her gun as she showed him her plan, and shook his head. “Impossible.”_

_“Almost impossible.”_

_“No, I’m sorry Melody, not this time. Even if you succeed in crossing the road, which I doubt, what are you going to do after that? You won’t be able to take the children back with you. Are you going to wait until you’re found and killed with everybody else?”_

_She thought that if her eyes could kill, he would be dead by now. She refused to understand what he was telling her. It made her angry that he could just walk away and leave those children alone knowing what fate was waiting for them._

_“We have to try. I’m going. Stay here or go somewhere safe if you want, but I won’t let them die because you’re too afraid to even try.”_

_She jumped on her feet, ready to run. She didn’t realise he stood up too, and she was too focused on her plan to notice when he hit her, so hard it knocked her out._

x.

_She woke up feeling as though her head weighed a ton, and she wondered if she finally had been knocked out and caught by one side or the other of the battle… But instead of the dark cell she was expecting when she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a warm bed, in the room that was hers when she was in the TARDIS. The Doctor was pacing, a few feet away from her, hands crossed behind his back, his lips moving as he mumbled to himself something she couldn’t understand._

_“What happened?” she groaned more than asked and the Doctor stopped his walk to face her._

_“You’re awake.” He stated the obvious and she rolled her eyes._

_“Of course I am. What happened?”_

_He gulped visibly, his fingers crossing and uncrossing as he sat down next to her on the bed._

_“I had to stop you. You were going to get killed.”_

_It took her a few seconds for the information to make its way into her bruised head. When she finally understood, she felt like anger made boil the blood in her veins._

_“You did what?”_

_“I had to, you don’t get it, we --”_

_“Yes, I totally get it. You… You_ knocked me out _and ran away and left those kids alone. What the hell were you thinking? I have to go back.” She pushed the covers off her hastily and ignored his protest._

_“It’s too late.”_

_“It’s not.”_

_She tried to get up, resting a foot on the ground, but as she stood up she felt like the whole room was spinning around her. She sat back on the bed, cursing as the Doctor sighed. She didn’t want to know how big the bump she’d get on her head would be._

_The Doctor lifted his hand to help her and she pushed it away. “Don’t touch me!” She was aware she was shouting at him, once again, and she knew he was surely right, that she wouldn’t have had a chance back there, but she couldn’t understand how he didn’t even_ try.

_“Melody, I’m sorry…”_

_“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to get away and_ do _something.”_

_“You don’t understand, we can’t. Even if we try, even if we get back a thousand times and had a thousand different plans, we would never be able to save them.”_

_“You can’t know that for sure.”_

_“I do. I’ve tried before.”_

_The sincerity in his voice hit her and she felt a bit of her anger disappear. She was wrong, he didn’t back off because he was afraid. She could feel his sadness and his own frustration, the same feelings he showed sometimes when he looked at her._

_“H-- how?”_

_He sighed and brushed his fingers in his hair before answering. “Some events, you can’t change them. They happened before and will happen the same way, whatever you try to rewrite them. You can’t, because if you do you’ll change the whole History, the whole universe. Some things have to stay the way they are. I’ve tried to change some of them, but I never could. Even if I thought I succeeded, I was wrong. It always ended up badly.”_

_“But why are you still trying if you know you can’t change anything?”_

_“Because I have to. I have to go and try to save the most I can. What we did today… We didn’t run away. I left a few behind, because I knew we couldn’t help them. But they were lots of other people that we could save. If you had run with those kids, in that building, I would have had to go after you and save you and it’d probably be too late to help anyone else. I know I shouldn’t have hit you, but you didn’t want to listen and I didn’t have time… So I brought you back here, and I went back to help the ones I could.” He paused, tearing his gaze off the duvet he had been staring at for a few minutes to finally meet her eyes. “You saved hundreds today. I know you couldn’t save those children over there, but everybody else… You saved hundreds.”_

_“You should have left me there, with them. I could have died with them, it would have been worth it.”_

_“I couldn’t.” He reached for her, and this time she didn’t try to push him away as his hands rested on her cheek._

_“I don’t matter. I’m not important. Those children were.”_

_“You are, to me,” he whispered, and she felt tears pricking her eyes. It’d been months since she first met him, and she still didn’t understand how he could love her so much, when she was nothing but a murderer, wasting her life making the bad choices again and again._

_“Why?”_

_“I think you know why…”_

_His hand was still on her cheek, a warm, comforting pressure. His thumb stroked her skin, wiping the single tear that fell from her eyes. His touch was gentle, tender, and she thought that surely nobody had ever touched her that way before. She could see the same fondness in his eyes, along with that sincerity he always showed her._

_She didn’t think as she leant into him and pressed her lips against his. His fingers curled against the skin of her face. Her tongue ran upon his mouth, slowly, cautiously, and it opened almost immediately. It felt like an instinct, a pure reflex as he moaned and his free hand wrapped around her waist. She let him pull her closer, her hands fisting into his shirt as the kiss deepened. Her tongue explored, stroked, discovered. He tasted like dust and ashes, defeat and frustration. It made her moan harder, and she wanted more. She wanted to forget about what happened today, what happened when they met, what was still to happen._

_Her lips left his, but only to kiss his face instead. Her fingers grabbed his t-shirt harder, blindly looking for buttons to open. But then he grabbed her wrist and she could feel him freeze._

_“Melody…” She looked up, her mouth leaving his skin reluctantly. “We can’t.”_

_“Why? I know you want me.”_

_Her free hand descended between his legs, stroking the evidence there. He hissed and closed his eyes, obviously fighting between his desire and his conscience - or whatever was stopping him._

_“Because. It’s not… Not today.”_

_She pulled back, disappointed and almost angry. “Because what? Is it because of her?”_

_He opened his eyes, confused._

_“Her. Me. Future me, past me, whatever. I know how you look at me sometimes like you’re thinking about her and how I’m not quite finished. Not good enough. Not what you need. Not what you want.” She pulled back further on the bed, trying to get as much distance between him and her as she could. She knew what she was saying was utterly ridiculous, because surely you couldn’t be jealous of yourself, could you? “And I’m sorry I’m not her, not yet, and I’m all you have. Stop looking at me with your pitiful eyes and your sadness. If I’m not the one you’re looking for, leave and stop wandering with me like I’m a ghost of this amazing woman you know. But don’t use this as an excuse each time you feel embarrassed with me.”_

_“No, no, no!”_

_He gesticulated awkwardly, trying to reach for her and then realised she wouldn’t let him touch her, deciding to grab and tug at his hair instead. “No, you don’t… It’s not … I don’t think about another you when I’m with you, you’re always the one I want, whenever you are, always have been right from the start but…” He breathed deeply, in and out, finally calming a bit as she tried to let his words sink in._

_“What I said, about events you can’t change… It doesn’t apply only to historical events. What we have… Our story… We tried, I tried, you tried, but we can’t change a single thing. Not a single detail. I can’t do more than kiss you, even if I want to, because this is not how it happens. I’m sorry.”_

_He reached for her hand, squeezing it. She nodded, understanding what he meant, or so she thought._

_One thing she knew for sure, she hated when she couldn’t change things._


	6. Chapter 6

December arrives and with it the next of John’s lectures, but this time River doesn’t attend it. She convinces herself she’s too busy with Christmas coming soon, she has more things to do at work, all the gifts to buy and pack, which results in less time to write (at the exact moment when her publisher is pushing her to write faster, hoping she could end the book before June so he could get it print for the end of the summer; he’s really serious about this novel after all). She happens to keep the shop open later the evening of his lectures, and she keeps looking at her clock, imagining him as he must be talking, and then answering the questions, leaving…

In fact she realises Christmas is just an excuse not to go and hear him. She’s starting to feel a bit worried she’s losing control of her feelings around Professor Smith, and surely not seeing him for a while might allow her to feel rationally again. The more Melody falls in love and gets closer to the Doctor in the novel, the more her affection for John grows. And it shouldn’t. He is not a character, she is not either, and they have nothing in common but the book he bought from her this summer and her stalking him since then. The only reason she feels attracted to him is this fascination the writer in her finds in his character. Nothing more.

So she finds more work to do, shops for her presents, and tries very much _not_ to think about him. The last point isn’t a great success.

She spends Christmas Eve with her best friend, Amy, who she’s known since they were both only children. As an orphan child, River had spent her childhood between shelters and foster carers; Amy was the only person she has ever referred to as her family. Amy helped her when she was young and rebellious, listened to her without ever judging her, and River believes it’s her patience that has allowed her to become what she is today. Without Amy, she would have died in prison or in a street fight a long time ago.

It was a tradition for the girls to meet whenever they could, and River was always invited to celebrate Christmas with Amy’s family. She thinks there was a time when the Ponds didn’t really appreciate their daughter having a friend like her, and their mistrust towards River never totally disappeared, but they always did make an effort to welcome her whenever she needed a safe place. She feels like she could never thank them enough for that.

This is how she finds herself in the Ponds’ living room, at three in the morning on Christmas, spread out on a sofa with Amy’s feet on her lap. Both girls have a glass of champagne in hand, the bottle between them, giggling as they remember old experiences and shared new ones. Amy’s parents have gone to bed and they feel like children again, just the two of them and their secrets.

“So,” Amy asks, sounding serious after their laughter died, “what’s his name?”

“What?”

The girl raises her brow at River and sighs dramatically as the writer still pretends she doesn’t understand. “Honey, please. We’ve been known each other for years. I know when you’re thinking about a guy.”

“He’s not a _guy_!”

“Oh, so there is someone…”

River bites her lips, cursing the too many glasses of champagne for letting her slip information without her agreement. “He’s not ‘someone’ either.”

“So, who is this not-a-guy-not-someone mysterious person?”

She sighs, Amy’s eyes fixed on her and she won’t stop asking her until she has her answer. Or maybe River could try to change the subject and hope they will be tipsy enough that neither of them will be able to remember this conversation come by the morning.

“River…” Amy nudges her with her foot and she knows she doesn’t have the choice.

“Ok, ok, I’ll tell you.”

“Great. Gimme a sec.”

Amy grabs the bottle of champagne, filling her glass and River’s before settling more comfortably on the sofa, making sure she can face her. She takes a sip, moaning in appreciation, before she shakes her head. River feels years back, when they were both teenagers and spent the night talking about guys until dawn. It always ended up with her sneaking out by the window before the Ponds woke up and realised she was still there. Except there aren’t fifteen anymore and today she will stay and sleep in a bed.

"Ok, ready. Tell me everything.”

And so River does.

She explains everything to Amy. How John appeared in her book shop one day. How she found him interesting and thought she maybe could use him in one of her novels. How she discovered his lectures and decided to attend them. How he ended up being the major character of her current story, a love story, and how the other character happened to be a part of herself. How she feels like she’s starting to mix up fiction and reality - and she doesn’t know which one inspires the other anymore.

When she finally stops, chewing her lips, her friend is staring at her, her head slightly bent on one side, a frown of concentration on her face. Their glasses of champagne are long finished, and the empty bottle is now resting on the floor. She’s starting to wonder if opening a new one would be a good idea, when Amy finally speaks.

“You’re in trouble.”

River grimaces. She knew that, long before Amy told her, but hearing it from someone else makes it more real. She hides her head between her hands and sighs.

“I know, Amy, I know. What am I supposed to do?”

She glances at her friend between her fingers, hoping that maybe Amy has the solution, something she couldn’t see by herself.

“You could stop writing this book…”

“No!” She sits up straight, shocked by the possibility, her reply so quick and harsh her friend startles. “No, no, Amy I can’t. This is the best novel I’ve ever written. I can’t stop now.”

“This is what I was afraid of. And even to me this book sounds great, so it must really be a good one.” River groans in reply, knowing her friend’s opinions on her works have always been direct and sometimes a bit too honest for her liking. “It would be a pity if you stopped now, but I also think that would solve most of your issues if you stop writing this book and stop going to his lectures every month.

“I can’t…” River whispers weakly. And it’s true. She forced herself not to go this month but she knows she won’t miss the next lectures. She needs to see him, not only to keep writing about him but also to fuel her personal attraction to him. To stop going was impossible, until the book was finished at least.

“So there’s only one solution left. You should ask him out.”

“I should what?” River gaped at her friend, not sure if it was a trick of the wine running in her body or if what Amy said was real.

“Ask him out.”

Twice can’t be a mistake. She is really proposing it.

“I can’t!”

“Of course you can! It’s as simple as that. You go to his next lecture, wait for him at the end of his speech and ask him out. Dinner. Movie. Even a museum or a library if you’re both the poetic kind. You’re gorgeous and totally smitten with him, why would he say no? Oh, is he married? Does he have a ring?”

“What? No, no I don’t think so.”

She frowns, trying to remember. She focuses on his hands, remembering how he gestures when he talks, or the day he had been in her shop and she had seen in hands really close… No, no he had no ring, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t married, does it? Lots of people don’t wear rings. And it could be just a girlfriend. Or he was gay… Oh god, what it? It would be so embarrassing.

“River!” Amy’s voice startled her and she finds her friend staring at her. “You’re thinking too much. If you haven’t noticed it then you’re probably right. He’s single and available, ask him out.”

“No.”

“You keep saying that, but gimme a single reason why you can’t?”

“Please, think about it. What if you meet a boy, just once, and bought a book from him in a little shop you probably don’t even remember, and then this boy starts to stalk you to your work, just looks at you for hours, and then writes a book about you in which a character who is exactly like him falls in love with you… What if this boy asks you out? Won’t you call him insane and run in the opposite direction?”

Amy stays silent for a few seconds, before she nods in defeat. “Ok, you’ve got a point here.”

“See,” River sighs in defeat, “I have no solution.”

Her friend doesn’t reply, looking at her glass for the next few minutes. Finally she throws her head back on the sofa dramatically, before stating the obvious once more. “My friend, you’re in big trouble.”

This sums up the whole situation, River thinks.


	7. Chapter 7

_The Doctor took her to the Moon. It was 1969, humans were learning how to travel into space, and they made sure Neil Amstrong’s first step was safe. Nobody would ever know what they had to do to make it happen, two time travellers fighting against shadows Earth wasn’t ready to face. Melody learnt that day that not changing History didn’t mean to only watch and see, sometimes you had to fight so things happened the way they were supposed to._

_She could feel the Doctor flinch a bit when she asked him to send her back into her cell in Stormcage but she knew better than ask by now. He stayed silent as he piloted the TARDIS back to the prison. She often wondered if he knew what she was imprisoned for, if he knew she had killed him - would kill him. She remembered the first time she had met him after his death, the last time for him, and she had let slip the fact that it would happen. He didn't seem surprised, but she couldn’t tell if he was hiding his feelings then or if he already knew._

_She also wondered, did she want to know what would happen for her at the end? The more she met the Doctor, the more they knew each other, and she knew one day it would be to the contrary. That when they would reach the middle of their story, she would be the one to know more about him and he would know less, and slowly she would see him younger and younger, forgetting her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know how it would end._

_She still felt guilty about his end - her beginning. If she had a second chance now, she knew she would never be able to kill him. But she also knew she couldn’t change what happened - and maybe she didn’t want to. Of course, she would keep blaming herself for his death for the rest of her life, but this event was also what changed her whole life. Without it, she wouldn’t have known the Doctor, she would still be running out there, killing, fighting, making the bad decisions. Now she had a life with him, not the kind she had dreamt about, but it was a good life. She was helping people. She was protecting time. She also started to study again, trying to find her own path for when she was on her own._

_With everything she had now, she could spend her whole life away from Stormcage and its cold walls, but she always came back to her cell, every now and then. She needed people to think she still served her sentence, and she also needed to find herself there sometimes. She liked the time to think it provided, and she also felt like she deserved the punishment. It was her way to keep living with her guilt, and to try to make amends. Even if he didn’t know now, the Doctor would understand, at least at the end; it was probably what would allow him to forgive her, and she needed it._

_So once again she came back to the place she knew by heart now; her cell, its little cot, a desk in a corner that allowed her to work, and a single window facing an eternal storm, clouds, wind and lightning making hard to even realise if it was day or night. The Doctor leant against the door of the TARDIS as she walked away from him, and she could feel the weight of his look on her - it was never easy to say goodbye, but tonight seemed a little harder than usual, both for him and her._

_“Melody,” he called as she reached for the door of her cell. She turned back. He had made a few steps in her direction, standing a few inches from her, crossing and uncrossing his hands in a nervous motion._

_“So, err, you…” he gestured vaguely in direction of her cell, “without, you know…”_

_Melody frowned as he spoke, trying to understand what he meant, what he was expecting her to do. Was it some kind of a ritual they had and she wasn’t aware of it yet?_

_“Doctor,” she rested a hand on his arm, stopping his nervous gestures. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about”._

_“Oh.” His hand curled upon hers on his arms and his gaze fell on them, a sadness on his face he couldn’t hide. “You… We used to…”_

_She smiled as he struggled with the words, tangling her fingers with his and stepping closer. His free hand automatically slid behind her back until she was pressed against him. “Tell me,” she whispered, and she couldn’t miss the way his eyes followed the movement of her lips. “Show me.”_

_He hesitated for a few seconds and she squeezed his hand reassuringly. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like, to teach her things for the first time, knowing it would be the last for him. She knew one day it would be her turn and she didn’t want to think about the pain. She would do whatever she could to make it easier for him now, remembering the time when all she did was to make it harder. It was not what she wanted anymore._

_He finally moved, his hand letting go of hers so he could cup her face, and slowly he pressed his lips against hers. His tongue ran upon her mouth, and she opened it greedily, moaning at the taste of him. It wasn’t the first time she had kissed the Doctor and since the day back when he saved her life and explained to her how their lives worked, they had indeed kissed a lot of times. Small pecks on her lips or languorous kisses with hands and more touching involved, but it never went beyond frustrating teasing. She understood why (not the right time, not the right her) and even if it was a bit disappointing to wait, she knew it was important for him, and she also discovered she enjoyed the slow path they were taking, being able to discover him step by step instead of rushing things._

_Except now he was kissing her with a passion that had nothing to do with all the embraces they had already shared. It was deeper, more intimate, and she understood then that all this time he had restrained himself. It was like he was offering her all his feelings now, bare in front of her, the trust he was finally showing her maybe the best gift he had ever made her, and she felt like she could weep. But he was hot against her and asking for more, and she had far better things to do than to cry now._

_Their kiss was interrupted by the harsh sound of the alarm of the prison, piercing, red lights flashing in and out as the official message warned them that a prisoner was out of their cell. Melody groaned in frustration as they parted._

_“I think they finally realised I was out. I guess I should go back in before--”_

_“Come with me,” he proposed, almost begged her, “come with me. I’ll bring you back before they realise you’re gone again. Please.”_

_She looked around them, the cold cell waiting for her, the guards running at the end of the corridor and shouting as they spotted her; then she looked at the Doctor staring at her, his lips red from the kiss and a bit of her lipstick across his mouth, his eyes shining with hope and promise… Her choice was easy to make. She grabbed his hand and ran with him inside the TARDIS._

_The ship disappeared as the guards reached for them, but Melody totally forgot about them as the Doctor let go of the console to kiss her again, and again, and again. She let him drag her along the corridors of the ship until they reached a room she didn’t know but realised must be his bedroom (or maybe theirs, and the thought sent another rush of desire through her). She slipped off her clothes and helped him with his, until they were lying naked on the bed, kissing slowly, enjoying the feeling of naked skin against naked skin before it went further._

_“Are you sure?” he whispered and she nodded without hesitation._

_“Yes. Of course I am.” He let out a sigh, a mix of relief and sadness. “You know,” she continued before she could think about it, “My first doesn’t have to be your last time.”_

_He smiled weakly and his hands rose to stroke her face. “Yes, it does. It’s okay, I knew it would come one day… And I’m sorry,” he added after a pause, “because you will have to live it too.”_

_Her heart constricted at the thought but she refused to think about it. Not now, not today, when it was his turn and she couldn’t make it about herself._

_“What can I do?” she asked instead, and she could see his silent thanks in his eyes._

_“Nothing.” He kissed her then, and she closed her eyes, sighing into his mouth. “Let me kiss you.”_

_They didn’t speak more after that, only breathless murmurs and words of love as he taught her how good they were together. And after, when their souls and bodies were satisfied and they laid entwined under the warm covers of his bed, if a tear rolled down his cheek and along her chest as he held her closely, she pretended she didn’t feel it._

x.

New Year passes and then January, and finally by the end of the month John gives another lecture. River runs to it, ignoring the snow that has been falling for days, arriving much earlier than usual. The moment she sits on her chair and looks at the lecture room, familiar faces smiling at her as she is recognised by a few people, she feels like she can breathe better. It’s been two month since she last came here, and she was like a junkie with withdrawal symptoms; her hands trembling, her only thoughts the date of the lecture and the fact she would be able to see him again. Of course the metaphor is a bit exaggerated, but there is no measure anymore in this situation, is there?

She tries to calm herself as she waits for the lecture to begin, reading the last paragraphs she’s been working on. The Doctor and Melody are finally intimate, both acknowledging their love for each other. It’s about the middle of the story, a few happy chapters (happier than the other tragic ones at least) to be written where they know each other and love each other.

As a matter of fact, River struggles to keep her story safe for the general public. All she allows herself to write are a few kisses, and then allusions or metaphors for the adult situations. She doesn’t want to be too explicit, knowing a sexual scene wouldn’t fit the tone of the rest of the novel. It would seem out of context, and she knows Howard will ask her to remove it. Or maybe he won’t, but there’s another reason why she doesn’t want to add such a thing into her story. She has put too much of herself in Melody, and writing her having sex with the Doctor while she sits in front of John and listens to him speaking isn’t a line she’s ready to cross.

Officially, at least.

Nothing will be printed, but River can’t help but imagining the scenes. It’s hard not to, when she writes about her two characters being lovers. She thinks about it with precise details, especially when it’s late at night and she feels alone in her too big bed. When the images are too clear and she can’t fight them anymore, she takes a pen and writes the scenes down. It’s easier that way, to pretend she’s still thinking about Melody and the Doctor, that it’s nothing but material for a novel, and if sometimes she writes her name or John’s instead of the characters’, nobody will know.

She thinks about Amy’s words, and knows her friend is probably right. She’s in trouble, and she lost all control of the situation a long time ago. She should step back, she tried to, but how is she supposed to? She promises herself she will stop once the novel is over. Howard wants it before June and it will coincide John’s last lecture. Then it will be summer and she will have three months to stop thinking about him. She won’t have a novel reminding her of him all the time, she will be back to her usual work and by autumn everything will be back to normal. A few months is all she needs.

As a consequence and much like her character, River is aware what she has with John won’t last, and she’s ready to take advantage of the situation while she can. This is why she has finally decided to come back to his lectures. Even if it sounds crazy, even if she will never be closer to him than this chair a few rows from him, it’s all she’ll have and it’s all she’s asking for. A lecture every month when she can see him and listen to him. Unlike Melody though, River would never talk to John and never share a love story with him, but it’s surely better this way.

She doesn’t miss him as he enters the room this day, trying to hide the grin spreading on her face by looking down at her papers as he appears. But the moment he starts to speak she can’t help but stare at him, drinking in the sight of him. It’s been too long and she needs to watch every movement he makes, every detail, everything.

He seems happier than the last time, speaking joyfully. She doesn’t know what the subject of his lecture is about today, and she doesn’t care. She can hear his voice. She can see him. She stares at his fingers pointing out a detail on the chalkboard, and tries to imagine how they would feel like on her skin. She watches his lips moving as he speaks and wonders what they would taste like upon hers. She gazes at his clothes, tweed again and white shirt and bowtie, and she dreams of what he hides beneath, pale limbs, muscles, skin she would love and kiss if she could.

She thinks John’s eyes meet hers at some point, and he seems to hesitate for a second, babbling and losing his words. He blushes and turns his head away from her, the ghost of a smile across his lips and she wonders if she imagines it or if it was really there.

She spends the rest of the lecture doing nothing else but looking at him and not even pretending to fight the thoughts crossing her mind. By the end of the session she has enough material to feed her story (and her personal fantasies) for the next chapters, and she exits the room contentedly, feeling much better than she had a few days ago.


	8. Chapter 8

_“Marry me.”_

_They were in Egypt, on top of a pyramid, enemies on their heels and she had no idea how long the door holding them out of their reach would last. Jumping off the building was impossible, going back in not a better choice, and they were trying to find a solution to escape when he suddenly asked._

_She didn't know what surprised her the most: the fact that he asked or the fact that he asked now._

_“Doctor,” she replied, her voice barely audible over the banging and shouting of their enemies._

_“I know it’s probably not the right time,” a louder thud on the door under their feet seemed to prove him right, “but I know it’s what I want.”_

_“I--”_

_“Don’t you want to?” he interrupted before she could say anything, wrapping his hands around hers. She bit her lips, knowing that yes, she wanted it - she loved him and had loved him for a long time and she dreamt of being his, and he hers, but she also knew that it was all, a dream._

_“Of course, Sweetie, nothing would make me happier, but what’s the point? The next time I see you you won’t know we’re married, and the next time you see me I won’t know either. We could only be husband and wife for one day.”_

_“I know,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “But it’s what feels right. You. Me. Melody Pond, the woman who married me.”_

_She blinked a tear away and nodded, the words perfect in his mouth and she knew she couldn’t say no after that. Even if it was only for one day, a few hours, she wanted to be his wife, and him to be her husband._

_The Doctor smiled as she agreed, the brightest smile he had ever smiled, letting go of her hands as he turned on his heels. “Ok, I need…” He looked around the small space barely wide enough to hold them both and he couldn’t find whatever he was looking for. “Never mind,” he declared instead, his hands reaching out for his neck as he began to untie his bowtie. “We’re_ _in the middle of a combat zone so we'll have to do the quick version.” He wrapped his left hand around the silk and she did the same with the part he held her. “So, your parents are supposed to allow me to marry you but…” He was interrupted by a loud bang under them, and there was no doubt the door under their feet wouldn't resist another assault. “Maybe we could go with the quick quick version instead.”_

_Melody smiled and stepped closer. “Then you may kiss the bride.”_

_She didn’t have to say it twice. The next second his mouth was crashing against hers and he kissed her passionately. One of his hands came to rest on her back, pulling her closer, the other still linked with hers by the bowtie, stuck between their bodies in an awkward way but she didn’t mind. She could feel the ground shaking and vaguely heard their enemies screaming, but the Doctor was still kissing her and nothing else mattered. Then everything seemed to disappear but his hands and his lips and the beating of their hearts._

_When they finally broke the kiss and opened their eyes, they weren’t on the pyramid anymore. Instead of the Egyptian night over their heads and the desert miles and miles away upon their feet, was the solid ground and the soft lights of the TARDIS. Melody blinked in surprise, and so did the Doctor._

_“How have we --”_

_“She teleported us!” he exclaimed, bouncing excitedly. He clasped his hands and spun on himself, forgetting Melody was still attached to him and she was forced to follow his movements._

_“She doesn’t have any teleportation system,” she pointed out while untying his bowtie from her hands before he moved again._

_“Well, apparently now she does.” He beamed at her like a child in front of his new toy. She smiled back at him as she freed her hand and started to unwrap his. He stopped talking, staring at her fingers as they brushed against his skin._

_“And you,” he finally said when she released his hand, “you are my wife. And this is more important than any improvement of the TARDIS.” He cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks and she felt herself grinning stupidly. She liked the sound of it._

_“Say it again,” she breathed out._

_“Say what?”_

_“I’m your wife,” she said with awe, barely realising the words were true yet._

_The Doctor smile, and he took a pause before speaking. This time it sounded even more perfect._

_“Wife.”_

_“Husband.”_

_They kissed, slowly, enjoying their new status. She would say the words a lot in the next hours, and made him tell her numerous times. She knew they only had today, and if it was the only chance she had, she wanted to make the most of it._

x.

 

Spring comes, the snow stops falling and the sun rises higher in the sky. The weather gets warmer, River puts her gloves and woollen hat back in the cupboard for the next few months, changing them for light shawls and open shoes. Nature comes back to life, and even the people seem to feel better, smiling more often.

Everything looks better as winter disappears and everybody seems to forget it, but it feels the complete contrary for River and her story. She has always imagined the wedding of Melody and the Doctor would be the best part of their story, the centre of it - and the point when everything changes. In the first chapters Melody was young and ignorant, and she grew step by step, knowing the Doctor, trusting him, falling in love with him. After their wedding things start to reverse. It is imperceptible at first, just light changes, a thing the Doctor says, another he forgets, a third one Melody has to teach him.

After a few chapters, Melody realises, and the reader with her, that what she has been afraid of her whole life is finally happening. She knew more things that the Doctor. She is the one helping him, explaining him, seeing him younger and younger.

Everything she lived before, she is living them again, but from the other point of view. She doesn’t have any first times anymore, but he does - and each time they are her lasts. Details first, and then things that mean a lot. The first time he holds her. The first time he wraps his fingers around hers. The first time he kisses her.

And as Melody, the Doctor doesn’t trust her at the beginning of his story. If he doesn’t hate her like she did, he is distant, looking at her from the corner of his eyes, shouting at her when she does something wrong or ignoring her advice. And Melody has no choice but to watch as she slowly loses the man she loves, her only comfort the certainty that he will learn, he will understand, and one day he will love her. It’s past for her, but it’s still his future.

Those chapters are heart-breaking to write, especially as River knows that in a few weeks she will have to say her own goodbye to John - metaphorically speaking. She still hasn’t talked to him except when he bought her a book a few months ago, and she hasn’t planned to. Amy tried to change her mind more than once, pointing out the fact that there were only a few lectures left and then she wouldn’t see him again, so why wouldn’t she take her chance? But River wouldn’t listen to anything. She would like to, despite everything she says to her friend, but she’s also afraid. Afraid to be disappointed, afraid he doesn’t understand her, afraid she has spent too much time imagining a perfect version of him, and reality wouldn’t fit. She’s gone too far.

So she writes Melody slowly losing her Doctor, and it helps River, in a way. It’s her own attempt to prepare herself. She thinks that maybe if she writes Melody’s pain, hers won’t hurt so much. And it won’t, because whatever reality brings her, it will never be as terrible as Melody’s fate. It’s the advantage of writing tragedy, River thinks, everything seems better.

Or maybe she’s just fooling herself. Melody’s life with the Doctor is tragic, but it has its good sides. She has known love. She has had a person that understood her and cherished her, even if in an unusual way and only for a short time. She has felt joy and happiness. She is losing everything, but at least she has something to lose.

All River has are thousands sheets of papers covered with ink and dreams that will never come true.


	9. Chapter 9

_Melody had been in prison for years when she had the opportunity to change her situation. She didn’t know why it suddenly happened, if the people imprisoning her in the first place had changed their mind or if they thought she wasn’t a threat anymore - or maybe everybody had forgotten about who the Doctor was and why they needed her to kill him in the first place, and they didn’t have any reason to keep her trapped anymore._

_The reasons might not be clear, but the fact was, they were offering her a second chance. Of course it wasn’t given for free, and they wouldn’t release her without any compensation. They asked her to help them – which was a bit ironic she thought as she found herself in Stormcage because she helped them._

_There had been a time when she would have refused the offer, too angry, young and callous to accept. Except she had grown up and changed, the Doctor had taught her to forgive and take all the chances offered to her. And the Doctor himself wasn’t the same anymore. She met him less and less, and each time she felt him slipping further away from her. She wasn’t waiting for him like she used to be, and staying in her cell felt boring and almost depressing now that she didn’t have the distraction of her life with the Doctor. She had started other projects, to keep her from going mad, and to find a new goal in her life. It would be easier if she had the permission to do it, if she could have a normal life again. Maybe getting out of Stormcage was an opportunity that arrived exactly when she needed it._

_Her decision was made and a few days after it was proposed, she accepted the offer. She would accomplish a few missions and then she would earn her pardon, and be free. She only had one demand; she wouldn’t execute anybody._

_The deal was accepted, and so she could enjoy freedom every now and then as long as she completed the missions no one else would accept - and she understood why she was asked to do them. They were dangerous, close to suicide missions and she wondered if the point wasn’t to be the death of her - but it would have made them too happy and she wouldn’t make them that pleasure._

_Eventually they proposed a last assignment, and this was how she found herself in an unknown ship, chased after by a couple of guards. The plans she had had of the building turned out to be inexact, the room she was looking for was far from where it was supposed to be, she had lost a lot of time trying to find it and it was why she was now running to save her life without any indication of where she was going. What had to happen eventually happened, and she found herself in a dead-end._

_Melody stopped, looking around her rapidly. The sounds of her enemies’ steps echoed behind her, too close for her to turn back and take another way. There was nothing else in this corridor, no door, no other room. She was trapped. Her only possibility was an emergency exit, which only lead to the void of space._

_She calculated her chances rapidly, the guards coming quickly, and who knew what they would do to her if they caught her? She knew nobody would come and rescue her if she was taken and her chances to escape alone would be almost non-existent. Space seemed to be the best choice (at least if it killed her it would be quick)._

_Melody turned back just in time to face her pursuers, guns pointed in her direction, ready to shoot. She smiled at them as they shouted at her to surrender. She had just the time to see surprise on their faces as she reached out for the emergency button and pushed. The next second she was sucked up outside, floating away from the ship and into space._

_It was like falling, except there was no up and no down, just the nothingness that separated stars. It was beautiful, it felt beautiful, and she wasn’t sure if it was her own overwhelmed senses or the lack of air that was starting to make her dizzy._

_She wasn’t expecting anything, just an endless drift and then death, and it took her by surprise when suddenly she could breathe again, and at the same time her body knocked against something solid and warm. She blinked a few times as she got used to gravity and a normal atmosphere again, finally realising she was lying on the ground, a man under her that she recognised instantly._

_“Doctor?”_

_“Melody?”_

_She jumped on her feet and off him, turning to the open door of the TARDIS to look at the ship she had been in a few seconds before, pointing her finger in its direction. “Follow that ship.”_

_“No”, the Doctor whispers, his voice grave and she knew there was something wrong. When she turned to face him he was gaping at her, his hands fisted, his face pale, like he had seen a ghost. Melody gulped; maybe he had. “You can’t be here. How can you be here? It’s impossible.”_

_“I escaped this ship and you rescued me, this is how I can be here…” she replied, trying to sound as normal as usual, smiling, flirting, mocking at him, while inside she was trembling and her heart was beating madly._

_“No, this is not what I meant. You…” He gestured vaguely in the air, before sighing and rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. “Melody,” he finally breathed out, “you’re dead.”_

_The words hung in the air between them, and for a few seconds not a sound could be heard in the TARDIS._

_So, that was it, Melody thought. Finally, after all these years, she understood. She couldn't say it was a surprise. There had been lots of clues, the way the Doctor always looked at her when he thought she couldn’t see him, the sadness in his eyes even when he was young and couldn’t possibly know about their relationship and its tragedy. It was also the best conclusion for their story, wasn’t it? She would die the day he met her, like he had the day she had met him…_

_But today wasn’t that day yet._

_She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, refusing to let the information waste their precious time. They had other things to do, and the first one was to catch up to the other ship and finish her mission, if she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in a cell._

_“You can’t say that,” she said then, remembering his own words when she had let slip the same information to him, a long time ago._

_“I know what I saw. I was there, I tried to help you but you sacrificed yourself and…”_

_“No, no, you don’t understand,” she cut him before he could say more. She didn’t want the details. “There are rules. I’m a time-traveller, like you are, and we are back to front. Your past is my future. Your firsts are my lasts.”_

_“Oh.” He looked at her with surprise, but the exchange wasn’t as difficult as she had expected it to be. Much easier than it had been when he had explained it to her. But he was already time-traveling; he must be used to the strangeness of this life, when she had been totally ignorant of the rules. “So… You know me? In the future? I… I’m gonna see you again?”_

_“Yes,” she confirmed. “And I’m sorry.”_

_He frowned, surely not understanding what she meant with this apologise. But she couldn’t find the strength to explain everything to him. Not now, not today. He would understand soon enough._


	10. Chapter 10

River’s eyes snap open and she sits up, her heart beating madly in her chest as she grabs the sheet tightly in her fists. She blinks as she looks around her and her grip relaxes as she realises she’s home and safe. The red light of her alarm clock shines four in the morning, the lampposts of the street project the shadows of her blinds on the ground, everything still and silent in the night. Her body is covered with sweat and she realises her pillows are now scattered across the bed and on the ground, proofs that her sleep has been as chaotic as her dream.

Because that was just a dream, she repeats to herself as she catches her breath and tries to calm down. Only a dream. A very vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless. It was all in her head. Nothing was real.

She breathes in and out, shivering in her damp sheets, her hands still trembling from the force of her emotions. She waits a few minutes, focusing on the familiar things in her room, and when she’s calm enough she grabs her robe and gets out of bed. She knows her night is ruined and she won’t be able to go back to sleep for a while (or maybe not at all). She walks into her kitchen and boils some water, preparing herself some tea. The familiar routine helps her to relax, and the moment she curls on her sofa with a hot mug in her hands, she feels better already.

As she sips the strong and spicy beverage she has chosen, her mind wanders back to the dream, trying to understand it, to rationalise it.

She was in the TARDIS. Melody was in the TARDIS to be exact, and she was Melody. It isn’t surprising, she thinks about her novel a lot, and considering she has put so much of herself and her own reality into the story, she sometimes forgets the difference between the two. Not consciously of course, but sometimes when she dreams about the Doctor and Melody she is Melody, and Melody is she.

Melody was in the TARDIS, and it looked exactly as she had imagined it. A large room with bright colours, high ceiling with alcoves, a large console at the centre full of stuff she couldn’t name, pieces of what the Doctor had gathered in his journey. And the Doctor was there too, in her dream, pacing around the console while fidgeting with the controls, and she felt immediately that there was something wrong.

He and Melody were arguing. She didn’t know why, and it was a dream so it didn’t really matter. The thing was, there were arguing. It was a thing she often thinks about, the Doctor and Melody having arguments; it must be a thing that happens often for two people who love each other yet are travelling in opposite directions. Even if it is futile most of the time, River thinks it must be the only way to acknowledge their pain and frustration. It is what happened in her dream. The Doctor was shouting at Melody and she was shouting back. She couldn’t remember the exact words, but it was something about the fact that she was a big girl, that she knew what she was doing and was totally in control.

And this was the moment when everything turned weird (weirder than River dreaming she was the character of her novel living an adventure with her other character who was also based on a real person anyway…)

_“No, River, you absolutely have no idea what you’re doing.”_

Those words, she remembers them very clearly. As she thinks about it, right now on her sofa while her tea warms her hands, she is almost living the scene again. How the Doctor said her name, not Melody’s. How she blinked and realised there was something wrong. And then she realised, it was nothing, just a few details but she should have known. The way he moved, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke… The Doctor wasn’t the Doctor, as she wasn’t Melody. It was John, and she was River.

Everything became clear, why he was angry at her, why he was shouting at her. And even if he was nothing but an image created by her mind, it hurt. It still hurts, River realises as she thinks about it. John kept screaming, and it was all the insecurities River felt. He told her he didn’t like what she was doing, the way she was using him in her book. He despised her and her novel, he hated her. And the only thing she could say was that he was wrong, that it wasn’t her intention, that he didn’t understand.

That she loved him.

She remembers it clearly, the moment it left her mouth and it didn’t change anything. It wasn’t long before she finally woke up.

She knows it’s all in her head and that nothing she dreamt about is real. John doesn’t know her and can’t hate her because he doesn’t even know about her book. But something is true in that dream; John would despise her if he knew, she’s sure of it. Nobody sane would accept what she’s doing. And she realises that she can’t ever tell him, ever. That if she had hopes before that she could talk to him or approach him in any way other than attending his lectures, it’s an illusion.

She doesn’t want to think about the most important fact; she said she loved him. It’s the first time she has put her feelings for him into words. She has no idea how it’s happened, but yes, she loves John. It’s ridiculous and stupid, but true, and painful because it’s totally impossible. She can’t love John. She can’t have him, not now, not ever.

She glances at a couple of papers on the table, a few notes about her novel. And the solution is right here in front of her eyes. She could take the novel and throw it away, or burn it, make it disappear. She could abandon the project and forget everything about it, forget that it even existed at all. She could do that, and talk to John next time she meets him. She could do as Amy advised, ask him out and make her fantasies true instead of writing them in a novel.

But she can’t do that, can she? She knows she can’t. This book she’s writing is too important now, almost finished, and she can’t stop now. No. She will finish it. And if breaking her heart is the price to pay, she’s ready to do so.


	11. Chapter 11

_It was late at night and Melody was still working, correcting the papers of her students (who would have thought, a few years ago, when everything started, that one day she would be a professor teaching things to young people and helping them to make their lives better?) when someone rang at her door. She laid her pen down, removed her glasses from where they were perched on the top of her nose and walked down the hallway. The place wasn't big, just enough for her; one bedroom, enough space for her desk and her bookshelves, papers scattered all around the place, she had hot water, light and windows, it was just what she needed after Stormcage and she didn't ask for more. It was almost too much for her, the double-size bed that had replaced her one-person cot in her cell too big now that she didn't have anybody to share it with anymore._

_After her last encounter with the Doctor she knew she wouldn't see him but once more, and then it'd be the end. She started to think it was better that way - their lives making a perfect circle, her end his beginning like it had been for her. She wasn't sure either that she would have ever managed to survive after meeting him for the last time - the first time. She wasn't ready yet for it to happen but she knew, when the moment came, she would accept it as it would be (like he had the first day)._

_Still thinking about it she opened the door, and her heart stopped. The Doctor was there, staring at her. It couldn’t be now. It couldn’t be that way. It was not what she had imagined; she never thought he would meet her by simply coming to her door and ringing…  It was far from the dangerous place and time she had expected, and - wait. The Doctor didn’t ring or even knock on doors. He never had, not even once, in all the years she had known him. He usually parked the TARDIS in the middle of action and threw himself into whatever was waiting for him. And the suit he was currently wearing was definitely not his usual either, far too classy, a black tuxedo in place of his tweed. And he didn’t bring flowers either, especially not her favourite, holding them out…_

_She took the flowers with trembling hands, and looked at him to see a shy smile forming on his face, and she understood, the moment his lips moved to greet her. “Hello.”_

_It was her Doctor. Not a young and ignorant him. No, this Doctor knew her, knew her very well. She could see the creases around his eyes and his lips, proofs time had passed for him too, and she understood he was old, almost as old as he was when she met him for the first time. Maybe he was close to the end too, like she was, which wasn’t as sad as one would think because it also meant that for the first time in their entire life, they were on the same page, synchronised._

_The flowers fell on the floor as Melody dropped them, incapable of finding words for what she thought, instead throwing herself into his arms and crushing her mouth to his. The kiss they exchanged was passionate, almost messy since too much time had passed since their last one and they were fighting too many emotions. He lifted her off the ground and she wrapped her arms and legs around him securely. She was vaguely aware of him moving them into the apartment, too focused on the stroke of his tongue, the feeling of his heart beating close to hers and the warmth of his body against hers to pay attention to what was happening around her. Her back finally hit the hard surface of a wall, and their mouths separated, both of them breathless._

_“Hello,” she finally responded between quick kisses on his mouth. His lips took the shape of a smile and she knew she was grinning too. “Aren’t we going to create a giant paradox and make the universe explode?” she asked, remembering the first rule of their back-to-front relationship and how it would be dangerous to change it all._

_“The universe hasn’t exploded yet, has it?”_

_“I don’t think so.”_

_“So I guess it’s safe. And even if we blow everything up, I can’t say I care.” He lifted a hand to her face, stroking her cheek carefully and she turned her head to press kisses onto his palm and fingers, the feeling of his caress incredible after all this time. “I’ve missed you,” he confessed, his voice trembling. She could feel her heart constrict at his words, suddenly allowing herself to acknowledge the weight of her own long months, seeing him without being able to touch him or kiss him or even telling him what he meant to her._

_“I’ve missed you too,” she admitted. But he was there now and she was with him, maybe it was all they would ever have, and she didn’t want to think about anything else._

_His mouth found hers again, another desperate kiss as his hands looked for the zipper of her dress and she was fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He moved them again, and they barely made it to her bedroom._

_The first time was quick, clumsy and passionate, unfulfilling. The second time was slower, their bodies and souls more in control, memories of other times coming back as they soothed their mutual wounds. It was only after the third time that they finally fell asleep, their bodies still entwined, peaceful._

x.

_The morning sun awoke them still in each other’s arms, and Melody thought it was an incredible feeling to wake up in her lover’s arms, his warmth enveloping her, his eyes shining with joy as his lips curled into a smile and he pressed a kiss upon her mouth._

_“Good morning,” he whispered and she sighed contentedly, her heart ready to explode. She knew it was domestic and far from everything they had ever been, but she had to admit she loved it. She could probably spend the rest of her life in this room, in this bed, in his arms._

_“The universe still hasn’t blown up?” she asked as they shared languid kisses._

_“I don’t think so. Or we’re in hell and it’s a better place than I imagined.”_

_She laughed and stretched, the covers sliding off her body and she could feel his eyes scanning her form with want._

_“I have to admit,” he said, his hand coming to her newly exposed stomach and caressing the skin there, “this was not what I planned yesterday.”_

_“Oh, because you did plan something? Apart from shagging me all night long? Because I can’t say I mind how things turned out.”_

_He blushed a bit at her words, her Doctor still shy even he was older._

_“I didn’t… well… I knew it would come up at some point but…” He scratched the back of her neck with the hand not busy touching her. She could have said something and saved him some embarrassment but it was so touching to look at him struggling with words she didn’t have the heart to. “I did put a nice suit on after all and bring flowers, I had a speech prepared and…”_

_“A speech?” She frowned. That was unusual._

_“Yes, a speech. I think I forgot everything now. I’m sorry.”_

_Her curiosity was pricked, and she didn’t know if she should be afraid of what he needed a speech for. And he wasn’t saying anything anymore now, looking at her like she had the answers but she didn’t even know the question._

_“Sweetie, what is it?”_

_He didn’t reply instantly, the hand on her stomach gliding up to her cheek as he studied her face. Her heart was beating madly inside her chest as she waited._

_“Travel with me,” he finally asked and she blinked in surprise._

_“What?” She knew she should have found something smarter, but it was all she could come up with._

_“I know it probably sounds stupid and impossible, and maybe you don’t even want to, I can understand, you have a life here now and I only went in and out of your life, but I also know…” He paused, his face suddenly grave as his eyes looked for hers. “We both know, next time we’re going to meet each other, what will happen.”_

_“I’ll kill you,” she murmured, the memory still vivid in her mind, more painful than ever._

_“And I’ll let you die.”_

_She gulped. The perspective of dying for him didn’t scare her, she would do it gladly. She would have died for him a thousand times if she could. But she also knew this meant he had felt guilty about it for his entire life with her, and he shouldn’t have._

_“I don’t blame you.” She knew telling him wouldn’t make him feel better, but he had to know. He had to hear it and she had to say it._

_“I know,” he responded, “and I don’t blame you either.”_

_She thought of his words, that day a long time ago. He forgave her. She couldn’t believe him then, but now she knew the words were true. She wondered if she would be able to tell him, when it would be her turn to face a Doctor who wouldn’t know her and watch her die, that she forgave him too._

_“I think we could have a little time on our own before it all ended. Run far away, save History another time or two, just… be together for a while. I know what I said about our lives that couldn’t change but I think… I think this has to happen. I can feel it, don’t you?”_

_She bit her lips, unsure. She knew she wanted it, this time with him, together, knowing each other for once, a first time and a last time all at once, for both of them… and yes there was that feeling, deep inside her chest, running into her bones, filling her veins…. Maybe they were supposed to._

_“So, please,” he keeps on, “come with me for a while.”_

_She nods her agreement after a few seconds, knowing it was probably irrational and dangerous, but nothing had never felt as right as it did now._

x.

River writes this chapter and the following one in a row, a cup of coffee next to her while she works all night long. She hadn’t planned this part when she started her novel. The Doctor and Melody were supposed to have a life running in opposite direction and to never meet but in the wrong order. Except she’s got attached to her characters, and it was too much of a tragedy to write, so she allows them this parenthesis, a few adventures on their own, a few months when they will be happy and together before everything ends.

She knows it won’t happen in real life. The end of the year was close. In a week John will give his last lecture and she doesn’t suppose she will ever meet him again after that. Happiness and love she won’t have, but Melody can, even for a short time, and she can still believe that giving her fictional counterpart a second of hope is enough.

x.

_It was easy, Melody found, to run with the Doctor. Despite the fact that they never had the chance to do it before, not for so long, not knowing each other so well, not so close to the end, despite knowing it was only limited and would have to stop one day, they seemed to fall into habits quickly. Nothing really changed from what they used to do; they fought, attended political meetings, saw History happening in front of their eyes, saved the people they could. And when they needed a break they bought ice-creams or sat at a café for tea and scones. The only perceptible change was when the day ended and they came back in the TARDIS together, and River didn’t ask to be brought to her cell in Stormcage or her new flat in the University. They stayed together and slept together and woke up together._

_It was also easy to forget why they were together, why they couldn’t do it before, and why it had to end. They were running away, trying to avoid events they couldn’t change, and the more they ran the closer they were to the end, and the faster they ran. They didn’t sleep often, throwing themselves in every adventure they could, losing all their sense of time. Refusing to face what was waiting for them - it would happen too early, whatever they did to avoid it._

_What had to happen happened though, and reality hit them with force one night. They had entered random coordinates in the TARDIS, opening the door to a city in fire, bombs echoing in the distance, people screaming all around them, shouting, dying. They didn’t wait a single instant, running hand in hand, trying to find a way to help whoever they could._

_They lost themselves in the task, and Melody had no idea how long they had been there when it suddenly struck her. It was a detail, a painting on a wall, but it allowed her to see everything else. The clothes people were wearing, the shape of their guns, the streets, the light… She knew where they were, when they were, she had been there too, a long time ago._

_Berlin. 1945._

_It wasn’t right, they had to go._

_“Doctor!” she shouted and he ignored her, still talking with a group of men. “Doctor!” she screamed again, abandoning whatever she was doing, focusing on him instead. She grabbed the lapel of his jacket, tugging until he looked at her._

_“We need to go,” she announced and he blinked at her in surprise._

_“What? No, we can’t, Melody, those people needed us and--"_

_“You don’t understand. We need to go. Now.”_

_Her hands were trembling and her tone was harsher than usual, and the Doctor looked at her closely._

_“Melody, what’s wrong?”_

_“I’m here.”_

_His eyes opened wide in confusion. “Of course you’re here..."_

_“No, no, not me. Me. A younger me. Before I knew you. I remembered this night very well. I was here, I was chasing you. I saw you.”_

_He understood, finally, how grave the situation was, and why they needed to leave. If her younger self was here, she could see them - not only the Doctor, but also the actual Melody. She could see things she wasn’t supposed to, and it could change everything. They couldn’t let that happen._

_“Ok,” he breathed out, nodding, and she could see his brain looking for a solution as he took her hand and dragged her away. They crossed a few streets, trying to make their way through the battle to come back to the TARDIS._

_They just turned at one corner when she spotted her, her hair impossible to miss, a few feet from them. She had her back to them, for now at least, but she knew that in one second she would turn back and see them. She closed her eyes briefly, her own memories of the night rushing back and then she remembered. She had seen them, the Doctor and a lady that looked like herself - but at the time she hadn’t realised it had been herself. She couldn’t, the moment too fast, the figure too far away, the street too dark. But there was no doubt now._

_Melody stopped the Doctor with a hand on his chest. “No. I’m here.”_

_The Doctor briefly looked at her other self, and she knew he was incapable not too. But they didn’t have time, and she pulled him in the opposite direction. They ran, and ran, except now they were two of her, and the young one couldn’t win, not this time, not yet._

_She let go of the Doctor’s hand. “We have to separate,” she explained as fast as she could. “She will follow you, and you’ll manage to lose her. I’ll see you in the TARDIS.”_

_He didn’t reply, his eyes asking silently if she was sure, and she nodded reassuringly. If he knew how scared she was, he didn’t say anything, and at the next crossroads they took different ways. As she thought, the young Melody followed him._

_She came back at the TARDIS what seemed to be hours before him, waiting as she thought. They had been close to being taken, to change everything. It was too dangerous now. They had to stop._

_The Doctor finally rushed into the TARDIS, breathless, and she didn’t say a word as he climbed to the console and flew the ship far away from Berlin. When he finally got his breath back and looked up at her, the sadness in his eyes let no doubt he had come to the same conclusion as her and knew what she was about to say._

_“I have to go.”_

_He gulped, nodding. If breaking a heart could be heard, she was sure she would have right then, as both his and hers crumbled. The weeks they had together had been nice, but now it was time to come back to the normal path of their lives, and waited for the end to follow._

_“Can we have a last night?” he asked in a whisper, his eyes begging her, and she didn’t have the courage to say no._

x.

_The Doctor had promised Melody the best night of her life, and she realised he hadn’t lied. He put on a tuxedo, the same he had appeared in when he came to her house weeks before, and he brought out her favourite dress, green and shimmering in the night. He took her hand and piloted the ship, refusing to tell her where he took her._

_“Darillium,” she murmured as she opened the door, the view in front of her breath-taking. She had heard a lot about the city, tales of its towers, long and thin, reaching for the sky, the wind blowing between them making them swing and vibrate, and it sounded like they were singing while the moon danced on their glass windows, a multi-coloured painting moving in rhythm with the melody. She had always thought such a thing was impossible, and that it was nothing but what it was called - a tale. Now she was facing it and realised everything she had heard was true, and maybe even more beautiful. Nothing could describe with exact words the perfection of the sounds coming to her ears, or the patterns drawn in the sky as the towers sang and, nobody had told her, seemed to dance._

_“Doctor…” she finally breathed out, incapable of making a coherent thought._

_“You like it?” he asked and she shook her head._

_“If I like it? This is… I never saw anything more beautiful.”_

_He smiled and squeezed her hand, and she could see the colours of the towers mirroring into his eyes, blue and yellow and green and violet entwined, but they couldn’t totally hide the sadness lying behind._

_They walked in the streets, fingers entwined, his grip stronger than before, like grabbing her hand harder could prevent her from slipping away. They bought something that tasted like tea and sandwiches wrapped in a paper bag, and they walked away from the city, finding a spot on the top of a hill to look at and listen to the melody of the towers that kept moving, changing, slow and longing as the wind blew just a gentle breeze tonight. They ate and then laid down in each other arms in silence, admiring the beauty of the towers in front of them._

_She didn’t know how much time passed. They held each other and kissed for hours while the towers sang and the Doctor cried. They barely spoke, words powerless to express what they wanted to say._

_When the night died they watched dawn coming up, new colours dancing upon the towers until the sun grew high in the sky. The light was too bright then and they reluctantly came back to the TARDIS, leaving._

_They changed their clothes to most casual outfits, and Melody packed all her belongings while the Doctor watched, silent. He tried to change her mind as she asked him to take her back to her flat, to her normal life, telling her they still had time, that they could go out, another time, a last time. But Melody knew that if she said yes now, she would never have the strength to go._

_This was how she finally found herself in front of her flat, facing her Doctor for the last time. They stood long minutes, not moving, his arms wrapped around her and she didn’t want to let go._

_She eventually found the courage to pull away and disentangle from his grip. His hands came up to her cheeks, cupping her face as he kissed her, deeply, passionately. And for a last time._

_“Goodbye Sweetie.”_

_She stepped away, out of his reach, knowing she had to go. He didn’t say anything, looking at the space between her and him like they were already miles away from each other. He opened his mouth, as if he had something to say, but he couldn’t form any word. So instead he smiled weakly, and turned away._


	12. Chapter 12

River remembers there was a time when she was anticipating each of John’s lectures with impatience, excited to hear him and see him. She remembers how she had to prepare herself then, thrilled to discover more about him, everything new, her novel just a bundle of ideas that made no sense yet. And then she remembers, when she started to know him a bit better, when she was able to read his body language when it was like a game, trying to guess his mood, his thoughts, his life.

It’s different today. She hasn’t waited excitedly for this lecture, on the contrary scared that it will happen, too fast, too soon. She isn’t thrilled anymore. She still tries to guess what John thinks, if he’s happy or sad or tired, but now it feels bitter, because she knows that she won’t have any chance to do it again after today. Her novel is almost finished, just a last chapter to come that she has delayed as long as she could. In a few pages it will be time to write ‘ _the end'_ , and then it’ll be over.

She promised herself that she will stop seeing John after her book is printed, and she still hasn’t changed her mind, which means that today is the last time she will ever see him. As Melody, River knows she can’t avoid this moment, and just as Melody, she is not ready to live it yet but she has no choice (except River does have the choice, but she won’t take it, because that’s what normal people do; normal people don’t get attached to a man they don’t know just by listening to his lectures; normal people realise how insane it is and they only let their fantasies last for a while before they move on; normal people don’t fall in love with strangers).

She still isn’t sure how this situation happened. How a man she was only interested in for his unusual physical aspect and behaviour as her character in her novel has become a personal and intimate interest. One day she was discovering him and having fun watching him, and suddenly she is longing for him, wanting to know more about him, details and secrets. She dreams of being more than just a face in his lecture, more than an usual student or a curious amateur. She wants him to see her, to look for her smile in the crowd, to feel better when she's here. She wishes he knew her well enough to tell her about his day and trust her will all the secrets he doesn't say to anybody. She wants to mean something to him, to become a part of his life. And this is exactly why she should never see him again.

John talks animatedly today, and she enjoys the fact that, at least, he is happy. He gestures more than usual, tells a few jokes, smiles. He gives life to his lecture, summing up the whole series and drawing the picture of what is his ideal of time travel. She feels proud when she realises most of the elements fit what she wrote in her novel. The more he talks the more she can picture him, forgetting Professor Smith and seeing the Doctor instead, travelling in time every day, being amazed by everything he discovers, helping people when he can and trying to make the world a better place.

She must stare too intensely at him because more than once he shifts under her gaze and glances at her. She can't be sure it's her he's looking at, and not the person sitting next to her, or behind. She can't be sure but she knows it, deep inside her. Or she wants it and imagines it's true, but it feels the same.

The usual hour of the lecture passes, and then people ask the last questions, and eventually John declares the session is over. He thanks everybody for making his series of lectures possible this year, the University, a list of official names, the audience. He smiles and feels happy and satisfied with what he has managed to do this year, and she’s proud of him. He has even accomplished more than he suspects, by helping her with her novel, even if he doesn’t know and will surely never realise it.

Eventually he stops speaking and people start to leave the conference room. River takes her time to gather her things, reluctant to be back home and definitely say goodbye to John - here and now, by never coming back to the campus again, and later, sitting at her desk, by writing the last words of the Doctor’s story and putting an end to it. She doesn’t want either of things to happen. She knows that this time, the usual feeling of accomplishment she always has when she finishes a story will come with a sensation of loss she never expected when she began. And even if this book will probably be her best work, she doesn’t want to ever go through this experience it again.

River waits, willing to cross the line she’s forced herself to respect until now, hoping maybe she can shake John’s hand and thank him for his lectures, in person. But there are already a lot of people congratulating him, talking to him or waiting their turn, mostly students. After a few minutes River’s courage disappears as she realises everybody asks or tells him about scientific details of his demonstrations, and she feels like she’ll sound stupid, far from having the same vocabulary and knowledge than everybody else. But she can’t leave without saying anything - he has helped her, a lot, and even if she can find a way to thank him at the beginning of her novel he will surely never read it and it doesn’t feel right. Incomplete. Without telling him the details (absolutely not telling him the stalking and the growing feelings she had about him), she would like to thank him. That’s all she asks for.

She looks around her, looking for a way to make him know without being too obvious, when she suddenly spots his notes on the reading desk, waiting for him to pick them up before he leaves. He’s so busy that he hasn’t had the time to gather them yet. She smiles, the solution clear to her and probably the best.

She takes her notebook out of her bag, looking for a blank page. She tears it out and grabs her pen to write. Just two words will be enough. She checks John’s still focused on his conversation and no one pays attention to her before approaching his desk. She only glances briefly at his notes, knowing that if she starts she will be caught by his writing and won’t be able to leave quickly. So she almost throws her paper before exiting, almost running out of the room without turning back.

“ _Thank you. R.S.”_


	13. Chapter 13

_“Hello, Sweetie.”_

_Melody forced a smile as she faced the Doctor for what she knew was her last time. She had tried to be prepared, to be strong, but she could have never imagined the sensation of loss she felt when the Doctor laid his eyes on her for the first time, and she couldn’t see anything in them. They were totally blank, totally unaware of who she was, and she realised then that even at the beginning of their story, there had always been something in his eyes - sadness, anger sometimes. But now they were empty. It was like he could look at her but he didn’t see her, his gaze sliding on her, through her, like she wasn’t there. It was the most horrible thing that ever happened to her, but yet she had to move on. So she hid her pain behind a smile as she greeted him._

_“Get out.”_

_His first words for her were harsh and rude, far from the effort she was making to be gentle and polite despite her deep desire to cry and shout against the situation. She didn’t think he could have said anything more painful. It was not only his tone, cold and demanding, far from the tender voice she was used to, but the words themselves. ‘Get out.’ He didn’t even want her to be there in the first place, throwing her out of his way, of his life. At this moment, she almost wished she could obey him and go._

_Except she was there for a purpose, and meeting him in this place proved she really needed to stay. The fact that they were trapped inside the building was only a detail._

_She had arrived a few minutes earlier with a whole team. They were in a library, trying to solve what had happened to the place. The building had been shut down after all the people inside had disappeared. Nobody could explain what had happened and the library was closed until a reason could be found and the place secured. Melody had been called, not as a murderer trying to clear her name anymore, but as an expert, to enter the building, explain why everybody had disappeared and solve the cause of the problem - or to die trying to. Melody had only vaguely thought about that possibility, but now that the Doctor was there, she knew she wouldn’t get out of the place alive._

_His attempts to scare her and her team were useless and they settled easily in the place, while she tried to understand what was happening, and why the Doctor insisted that the building wasn’t safe and they should leave. It wasn’t easy to talk to him, face this face she knew by heart while he didn’t see anything in her but a stranger who interrupted his adventure and would put in danger her own life and the ones of the people she worked with. He was angry, and she could almost understand why._

_“Vashta Nerada,” he finally announced when she insisted, and she gulped. He explained but she already knew what they were. Flesh eating monsters living in the shadows, and there was absolutely no way to fight them. Apparently they had arrived with a box of books, and were now in the entire place. They weren’t safe here. He was right, they should leave._

_“No,” the Doctor said. “You and your team should leave. I can’t.”_

_“Why?”_

_He sighed and rubbed his eyes before he replied. “There’s still a little girl in here. I have to find her and get her out of here.”_

_Oh. So that was it, why he had found himself in the place. He knew all the people were already dead and he couldn’t change that, but if there was still this little girl, he would do everything he could to save her. He was maybe young, but he was already the Doctor she knew._

_“Ok,” she finally replied. “You tell me everything about this girl, and I’ll go and find her. You, you take everybody else with you in the TARDIS and stay somewhere safe.”_

_The Doctor gaped at her, surprise evident. “How… How could you know about the TARDIS?”_

_Melody sighed, the situation too critical and she didn’t have the time to explain everything to him now. “It’s complicated, but I know about the TARDIS because I know you, and you know me. Will know me. This is why you have to leave, now.”_

_“No, no I can’t. I won’t leave you alone with those monsters. You wouldn’t survive.”_

_“Doctor, please.” She was tired, so tired, and she didn’t want to argue with him. Not today, not now. “There are other people here that you can save, so please take them away and save them. I don’t matter.”_

_He surprised her then, stepping closer to her and grabbing her arm, almost painfully. “Of course you matter. I’ll stay, and I don’t need your agreement.”_

_Tears in her eyes, she gave up, because she knew he would never leave. He proposed the team should leave now, telling them Melody and he would be enough for this mission and they didn’t need to risk their lives too. But they didn’t want to leave either, and they should have._

_One by one they were taken, disappearing in the dark as the Vashta Nerada took them, until Melody and the Doctor were the only ones remaining. At least they found the girl, Charlotte, hidden in one of the rooms at the centre of the library, and the Doctor carried her as they made their way back to where he had left the TARDIS._

_They were almost there, just one corridor to cross, when their path was blocked. Darkness was close, monsters waiting for them, and they wouldn’t make it to the ship in time._

_The Doctor laid Charlotte on the ground and turned to Melody, speaking low enough so the girl wouldn’t hear them._

_“Take her,” he whispered. “I’ll go first. They should be focused on me long enough for you to reach the TARDIS.”_

_“What? No!” He couldn’t be thinking of sacrificing himself. Not today, not here, not now. She knew it wasn’t right. And she also knew it was her task. It was the only possible way. She was bound to die here, and he still had everything to come. Their whole story was waiting for them, and she would be glad her death would not only save him and Charlotte, but make everything they had possible. “You take Charlotte, I go first,” she corrected him, hoping her tone was strong enough so he wouldn’t try to discuss._

_“Melody, I can’t let you do that. You wouldn’t have a chance.”_

_“Neither would you!” He was ready to fight more with her, but her last words seemed to shut him up. She was trembling, her whole body shaking as she tried to control herself, her emotions. She wouldn’t let him die here, and he had no idea how determined she was to save his life. “Don’t force me to knock you out. Take Charlotte, save her. You can’t die today. I won’t let you. And I don’t need your agreement.” She used the words he had said earlier, and she didn’t know if it was them or if she had finally been clear enough, but he finally gave up._

_He turned back, taking Charlotte back into his arms. He murmured to the girl that everything would be alright and that in a few seconds she would be safe, but his eyes were staring at Melody, the sadness she was used to see in them back. She nodded and smiled - and it wasn’t forced. She was happy. She would give her life to save him, and save the girl, and it would be paid back the day she killed him. At least she hoped so._

_She felt peaceful as she breathed in and out for the last time, stepping into the shadow. As darkness engulfed her, reduced her to nothing but dust, as her body crumbled and disappeared she kept smiling. What she did was right, and even if she died here, for the Doctor it was only the start._


	14. Chapter 14

River finishes her novel right before the deadline she had been given. Howard is highly excited about it, even more than when she started, repeating that what she has produced is her best novel and will be a success. She’s still sceptical, and her mind too blurry fighting her emotions to really be able to judge her work clearly. She follows her agent’s instructions, edits a few details, until finally the book is ready to be printed and there is just a dedication missing.

She spends a few days thinking about it, trying to find the right words. She wants to thank John, but doesn’t want to make it too obvious. She needs it to be something only she understands.

After a few attempts, rumpled drafts piled up in and around her waste-paper basket, she finally decides on one.

_You cannot see me, but I’m always here._

She reads it a thousand times, changing the order of the words, putting a comma, removing it, but finally she looks at it and it sounds right. She feels like it tells everything; his constant presence in her life those last few months and his complete ignorance of her existence. But it doesn’t say too much, doesn’t give details about who he is and how she knows him… it’s perfect.

She sends it to Howard and doesn’t think about it anymore - or tries not to at least.

Her book is published in the summer, and River can’t hide her surprise when her agent’s forecasts happen to be exact. Two weeks after the novel is released, they have to print more books, the previous ones all sold out. The reviews are excellent; not all of them, of course, but at least she has critics, for the first time of her life, professionals liking her work and publishing their opinion in magazines and papers. And soon it’s also radio and television, not only the obscure channels but the public ones.

Howard calls her almost every day, letting her know how the sales go and she can hardly believe the numbers he tells her, that keep increasing. Even her previous novels have their little successes, people curious to read what she wrote before. After a while she receives more calls, from journalists inviting her to their shows, and even though she is reluctant at first her agent finally persuades her she has to go.

And so she finds herself sitting on stage with bright lighting on her face, smiling at cameras as people ask her the same questions again and again. And she repeats the same things again and again. She doesn’t tell them the whole truth of course, vaguely admitting she read a lot about the subject and attended a few lectures in her local university for the technical parts of her book… and then it’s all her imagination and who knows where the inspiration really comes from?

She smiles, she is a guest in shows with actors and footballers and the latest reality show’s celebrity, she sits for hours in bookshops to sign her books. She visits what must be the whole United Kingdom, and a bit of America too. Even if she has to get used to this new attention on her, she doesn’t complain, and it’s not only because of the success of her book and the financial advantage of it, but also because it keeps her busy. September arrives and she’s far away from home when the classes in the University start again. She doesn’t know what lectures John will do this semester, she doesn’t even know if he’s still working there, and she doesn’t even have time to wonder.

She knows she would have spent too much time thinking about him if she was in her bookshop, wondering what she should or shouldn’t have done. Of course she thinks about him, because it’s like everybody asks about him (when people wonder what her cryptic dedication means, she only says it’s something personal, she jokes about writers and their secrets, and hopefully most of the time the question is forgotten) but then she is busy with autographs and interviews and she forgets. It’s only late at night when she finally finds herself alone in her bed that regrets come back, but she’s too exhausted to let them last long.

And so pass the weeks.


	15. Chapter 15

It’s a sunny autumn afternoon. She’s back after another series of interviews, putting new books in the history section when the door of the shop rings. “I’m coming!” she shouts, not bothering to look at the new customer. She places a last book on the shelf before wiping the dust off her hands on her jeans, and smiles as she turns around and walks to her desk where the customer is patiently waiting for her. “So, what can I do for you?”

He turns her head and her last word dies in her throat as she recognises him instantly. It’s _him_. The man she had been stalking for weeks, the man she has written a whole book about, the man she’s fallen in love with without even ever talking to him for more than five minutes, the man she’s been carefully avoiding since she realised how crazy all of this sounded - he’s here. John. Waiting for her in his usual tweed jacket, floppy fringe falling into his eyes as he smiles at her.

She freezes for a second, and then realises he doesn’t know - he doesn’t know he’s been haunting her dreams for months, he doesn’t know how much she has fallen for him, he doesn’t know how addicted to him she has become. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have to know. Acting stupidly because he’s here isn’t an option. So she clears her throat and plasters a smile on her face and tries very hard to act like a normal person.

“Actually,” he says, turning to face her and her heart stops a second time as she notices the book in his hand - _her_ book, the book she’s written about him, the book holding all her fantasies about him, the book of the life she’s imagined for them in an universe that will never ever be, “I was looking for you.” He pauses and she realises she hasn’t moved yet, hasn’t ever breathed for at least a whole minute, since the moment she had seen him. “It’s your book, right?” He holds it out to her and she swallows, internally screaming that no, _no,_ it’s not her book, he should leave, right now, before she makes a horrible mistake, but her mouth seems to have a mind of its own as she replies. “Yes, it is.”

“Do you think you can sign it for me?”

“Of course.”

From his point of view she must still be smiling, looking perfectly normal and even a bit proud of facing a fan, and she doesn’t know how she’s doing it. It’s like she’s split in two. Her body moves and takes his book, her hands looking for a pen on her desk without even shaking, while inside she’s melting down, losing all the sanity she has left. She keeps smiling as she opens the first page and looks for a corner to sign, like she has done for so many readers before - except he is not any reader, it’s him. She chews the bottom of the pen as she thinks of what she could write him - _I love you_ is the first thing that comes to her mind but it’s obviously not the kind of autograph he’s looking for. She could write something more common, _best wishes_ or something similar, but it doesn’t feel enough. She wants to write something a bit personal, without being too personal, and how is she supposed to do that?

“I can always see you.”

His voice starts her and she gasps. “Wh-- what?”

She realises he’s come closer to her, almost touching her as he looks down at her, his eyes shining and she’s not sure what’s she supposed to read in them.

“ _You cannot see me, but I’m always here_ ,” he quotes her dedication and she gulps. “It was for me, wasn’t it?” She feels cold and hot at the same time, she wants the earth to swallow her because, oh god, _he knows_ , but at the same his eyes are on her and she can’t seem to be able to even turn her head, because there’s something in the way he looks at her, that attracts her, that makes him irresistible. They’re so close she can smell his cologne and count the freckles on his skin and she can see all the variations of green in his iris, and if it’s the last time she meets him, she wants to remember everything.

“And I can always see you,” he continues speaking and she tries to understand what he’s talking about. “I have always seen you and I will always see you. Even before you started to notice me. That day I entered your shop… I had met you, before. You were in the park, looking at flowers and you were so beautiful, I didn’t dare to talk to you. And then I found your bookshop, and for a month I walked in your street every day, passing in front of your door, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. A month, it’s what it took me to find the courage to enter your shop and speak to you. And I was so stupid this first time, so clumsy, I’m really sorry… But I could talk to you, and I bought the first book you gave me - I would have bought anything that first day. But I realised as I talked to you that you were even more perfect than I thought, and why would you even be interested by me? So I stop coming, and I tried to forget you. But I couldn’t. When a few weeks later you started coming to my lectures, I thought you had a reason to do so - a professional reason that had nothing to do with me. And then you stopped coming and I thought I had lost you again. Until I saw your face in a shop window, and on television, you were everywhere… I bought your book, and I read it in one night, I couldn’t stop reading you understand because… I was right. You had come to my lectures for professional reasons. But it wasn’t only about the physics and time travel, you had… you had written about me and what you wrote, I have to admit, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read and so I thought… Maybe I could come here and see you again and maybe…”

He stops rambling then, and she can’t do anything but gape at him, trying to understand what he’s saying. She’s not sure if it’s her ears or her brain, if she’s imagining everything that he’s saying… He has wanted her, too? He has noticed her and thought about her, and he has _seen_ her?

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he suddenly changes and she frowns in confusion. “I realise how creepy all that must sound, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come, I misinterpreted you, I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing, really, sorry, please forgive me I…”

She realises then she hasn’t said a word and he must think she’s rejecting him. She can’t let that happen.

“No!” she almost screams as he tries to take his book back, and they both freeze. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t mean… I’m just… it was unexpected and… I…” she rambles, trying to find the words, trying to find the courage. She thinks it’s a bit ironic that she, the successful writer, isn’t capable of explaining her own thoughts clearly.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologise, I made a mistake and I…”

“Why… why didn’t you speak to me?” she finally asks. Their eyes meet, and slowly realisation replaces confusion on his face. He bends his head shyly and his voice trembles a bit as he murmurs, “I thought it would hurt.”

“I believe I could have coped.” She smiles, a smile that isn’t forced this time. She lets go of her pen and reaches out for his hands, lacing her fingers with his over the book, barely realising she is touching him for the first time. He shakes his head and squeezes her hand tightly.

“I thought it would hurt _me_.” He pauses, looking up through his fringe to lock his eyes with hers again. “And I was --”

She puts a finger on his lips before he can say more. She doesn’t want to hear the end of this sentence. It hurt, yes, but it won’t anymore. They are going to work this out, aren’t they? She wants to try at least.

“Please, River, I…” He starts but she cuts him off again.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” The confusion is back in his eyes.

“You are going to ask me out, dinner, lunch if you prefer, I don’t mind. You’re going to ask me out, and I’m going to agree.”

“Oh.” Tension seems to leave his frame as he understands what she’s asking for - _a date_ \- and he smiles genuinely. “Dinner then? Tonight? Seven?”

“No, I close the shop at seven. Let’s say eight?”

“Eight. Eight is perfect. I’ll pick you up.”

She smiles and he smiles back and for a while they don’t speak or move, just look at each other. River can barely believe this is happening. After weeks, months, she has a date. With him. For real.

“Ok, so, err,” John finally says awkwardly, stepping backwards and away from her. “I… see you tonight then, and…” He’s interrupted by a loud crash, hitting a pile of books with his elbow as he waves at her, and of course they all fall on the ground. He jerks and swears, exactly like he has done the first time she’s seen him, blushing as he tries to gather the books and she can’t help but chuckle. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” the term of endearment seems natural for her, but he blushes even more as he hears it. “I’ll take care of that. Go. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yes, right, okay.” He turns on his heels a few times, finally placing the books he’s gathered on an empty space, before heading for the door. “See you. Tonight. Eight.”

She smiles and waves at him. He’s already half outside when he turns back again. “Oh, the book.” He points out his book, the cause of everything she has still between her hands, and she grins.

“Oh, no, I’ll keep it. If it’s okay with you?”

“Yes. Sure.” He nods and seems to hesitate a few seconds, before eventually leaving the shop. He smiles at her through the shop window, stumbling on his feet once more as he does so, and she laughs at that. He’s young, he’s clumsy, he has a weird job that consists in proving time travels exists, and there are plenty of reasons why he and she shouldn’t work, but right now she doesn’t want to think about it. He’s come and found her, and she doesn’t want to let him go. Ever.

Her heart is lighter as she finally goes back to work, a smile on her face all day long.


	16. Chapter 16

Seven finally arrives and River closes the shop and rushes upstairs, into the flat she owns above the shop. She showers, tries to tame her hair and finally gives up, letting it fall freely on her shoulders. She loses a lot of time looking into her wardrobe for something to wear, finally settling for a plain black dress. It’s classy without being too dressy; a touch of make-up and she’ll be ready.

She’s putting her earrings in when the doorbell of the shop rings, and she glances outside to discover John waiting on the pavement. He looks up at the same moment and smiles at her. River can’t help but smile back, literally beaming at him. Everything is going to be alright, she repeats herself. It can’t not be, not when John is genuinely smiling like he currently is, ready to take her out. Not after all this time.

She waves at him, mouthing ‘ _two minutes_ ’ through the window before pulling away. She glances a last time at her reflection in the mirror, pats her hair for good measure, the rebellious curls refusing to stay in place whatever she tries to do, and grabs a pair of heels she puts on while going downstairs. She almost runs to the door, breathing deeply as she unlocks it and finally opens.

“Good evening.”

The first thing she sees is a single rose held out to her, and behind, John’s eyes shining expectantly through his fringe. River smiles and takes the flower, humming approvingly as its scent invades her senses. “Thank you,” she whispers leaning in so she can kiss his cheek. She lingers just a fraction of second longer than necessary, trying to print the feeling of his skin against her lips and the smell of his cologne and the rough material of his tweed against her bare arm. He clears his throat as she pulls back, his cheek a little flushed and it makes her want to do it again. Later maybe.

“Come in,” she invites him. “I’m just gonna find a vase and grab a coat and we can go.” He follows her as she goes back inside and he stays in the shop while she returns upstairs, rummaging in her cupboards for a vase. When she’s back down a minute later, coat in hand and ready, he’s wandering in the shop, looking at the shelves and the books laid almost everywhere, and her heart squeezes as the sight. It feels like he belongs here, all floppy fringe and tweed jacket and gangly limbs, totally at ease with her everyday environment. She realises she doesn’t want him to leave. Ever.

He smiles as he finally spots her, taking her hand as she goes down the last stairs. His grip is confident and warm, his touch soft and gentle. Everything feels like she imagined when she was writing her novel, except it’s better.

“You look wonderful,” he compliments her. She knows his words are honest, she can hear it in the way he speaks and it’s her turn to blush. She thanks him and they exit the shop, still hand in hand.

Half an hour later they’re sitting at a small table in a restaurant he chose, looking at the menu and glancing at each other every now and then. River realises it’s a bit complicated to find a talking point with someone she knows without really knowing, lots of questions rushing through her mind and she doesn’t know where to begin. She only vaguely sees the words on her menu, focused on what she could say instead.

“You’re nervous.” John’s voice startles her and she looks up, finding him staring at her, his menu laid down on the table.

“I’m not,” she replies, the lie obvious.

“You are,” he contradicts her and she huffs in defeat. “You’re biting your lip, you always do that when you’re nervous.” He points out and she realises that he’s right, she’s been chewing her bottom lip for a while. She’s surprised he’s noticed that, when most of the time she’s totally unaware of the gesture.

“Yes, right, I’m a bit nervous,” she finally admits, letting go of her own menu to face him properly. “It feels a bit strange to be sitting here with you when I don’t know you and --”

“You do know me,” he interrupts her. “You’ve watched me for months, and most of the things you wrote about me in your book are right. You have noticed all those little things about me and guessed the rest and I was surprised how much you taught me about myself while I was reading you.” He paused, reaching out to wrap his fingers around hers and she lets him; the touch feels too familiar for her to refuse it. “And I know you, because I’ve watched you too. I know how you frown when you write on something that gets all your attention. I know how you wrinkle your nose when I say something you don’t like, or how you look down when you’re not sure what’s happening. I know Melody has lots of common points with you and I know how insecure you feel about this all…” He squeezes her hand. “I promise you there’s nothing to feel insecure about. Everything will be okay.”

“Okay.” She nods, his words reassuring, proof of how much he cares about her and has been waiting for this moment to arrive, like her. He won’t screw up everything now, and neither will she. She should find it creepy and weird that he knows so much about her, and that she knows so much about him, and probably most of people will run away, but she feels like it’s perfect - a thing they share and that nobody will ever understand. It feels right.

“Perfect.” He pulls back slightly, still holding her hand, his thumb stroking her skin gently. “But I’m usually not so skilled with words and you know how clumsy I am, so please forgive me if I end up splashing wine on your dress before the end of the night or if I say anything horribly embarrassing…”

She laughs and promises, and it’s a lot easier after that. They discuss the menu together, both blushing as the waiter comes for a third time and they’re still not ready to order. They can’t decide so they finally choose a bit of everything, sharing plates and eating from each other’s fork. John talks about his current series of lectures, the different classes he gives and the students he teaches, while River tells him about weird fans and funny things that she learnt while she was on television stages. When they’re tired talking about their work they try to guess each other’s favourite colour, animal, or food. Their tastes are different and they laugh more than once. There isn’t wine splashed on her dress, but the contents of a full glass ends up on the tablecloth while John talks animatedly with his hands, and a few stains of sauce land on his shirt. They laugh more and she can see relief in the waiter’s eyes when they finally exit the restaurant.

They don’t take a taxi to go back to the bookshop, instead deciding to walk despite the cold. They stay close to each other and when River shivers John wraps his arm around her, pressing her close to him. She smiles against the material of his jacket, enjoying his warmth and proximity. It’s easy, she feels, to be close to him and let him touch her, and it’s like she’s been waiting her whole life to be allowed to have such an intimacy with him.

They settle into a comfortable silence as they walk, all the previous tension disappeared. It’s almost too soon when eventually they reach her home and she has to disentangle from his arm.

“I’ve had a wonderful evening,” she admits, playing with her key in her hand, reluctant to open her door and leave him.

“So have I,” he confesses and then pauses for a while. River feels like a teenager back from her first date, unsure what to do next. It’s finally John that speaks again. “Does it mean I can see you again?”

She beams at him, nodding with enthusiasm. “Yes, of course you can. And you’d better.”

He smiles back at her genuinely, like she’s just told him the best news of his life. His hands raise then, reaching for her face. She leans into his palm, waiting, not daring to say a word and hoping he’ll read the consent in her eyes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but River is happy when he changes his mind and instead leans in to kiss her.

His lips against her lips taste wonderful, a bit of wine and the faint taste meal they shared, sweet as the chocolate they had for dessert, and behind there’s something else she can’t name but that feels intimately like him. If she closes her eyes and focuses she can almost recognise the flavours she described the Doctor with, magic, adventure, time. His tongue strokes against her mouth and she opens it to him greedily, moaning as she explores his own. His hand on her face caresses her skin while the other settles against her hip and pushes her closer, while she wraps her arms around his neck and keeps him against her. She doesn’t feel cold anymore.

She doesn’t know how much time they kiss before they’re forced to part, both looking for air. They stay in each other’s arms, his forehand pressed against hers as she breathes in deeply. Their eyes meet and he’s smiling as he rests a last kiss upon her lips before stepping back.

“I’ll call you.”

She knows it’s a promise he will keep, so she’s not scared as she watches him leave and disappear at the corner of her street. Her body and mind feel dizzy, and she’s not sure if it’s the wine in her blood or the memory of his kiss on her lips.


	17. Chapter 17

John doesn’t call. But two days later is Sunday, and someone rings the bell of the bookshop far too early, awaking River from her sleep-in. She groans as she glances at the clock, seven shining in red numbers. She first decides to ignore whoever is harassing her on her day off, but then the bell rings a second, then a third time, and she finally gets out of bed. She puts her gown on, approaching her window and ready to shout at whoever she finds there to leave, when she realises the form waiting outside is familiar.

“John?”

She hurries down the shop and opens the door with sleepy eyes, not knowing if she should be curious or worried about such an early visit.

“Good morning!” All her worries vanish the moment she opens the door and he greets her. He smiles and hurries inside, his nose cold against her skin as he kisses her cheek. She hastily closes the door behind him.

“Good morning,” she replies without the same enthusiasm, closing her robe tighter around her. She’s bare footed on the cold floor and it’s freezing outside. It’s so early the autumn sun hasn’t risen yet, she doesn’t understand how he can be so happy to be here.

“I hope you don’t mind, I know I haven’t called but it was a bit early…”

“It still is,” she points out, not blaming him. She would have preferred to stay in bed but he’s here and his joy is touching and a bit intoxicating.

“Oh, is it?” He glances at the clock she keeps in the shop and frowns.

“It’s my day off,” she adds and the information brings the smile back on his face.

“I know. I don’t work either today, I thought we could take advantage of it.”

“Oh.”

“And I brought breakfast.” It’s only now that she notices all the bags in his hand and she suddenly feels more than awake. “I didn’t know what you liked so I brought a bit of everything. I have French croissants and eggs, bacon, a bit of jam, marmalade, mushrooms, four or five different kinds of tea and of course coffee, the best in town…”

He looks at the awfully big bags he's holding and River smiles as she replies. “You should have started with that.”

He smiles back and she hurries him up to her flat.

An hour later River is sitting in her kitchen, an empty plate in front of her. She gives up, refusing to eat up another bite while John takes a last mouthful of croissant covered with jam, still wearing one of her aprons. He cooked eggs and bacon while she was showering, and when she came out of the bathroom the table was ready, tea and coffee steaming and full plates of food waiting for them. The breakfast has been huge, and delicious.

“Thank you, that was wonderful,” River admits, “but I won’t be able to move for at least a week.”

“What a pity, I had plans.”

“What kind of plans?”

He doesn’t reply, instead licking his fingers to clean them of the last traces of food. He smiles at her before reaching out for her and for a second she wonders what he’s doing. Then he wipes at the corner of her mouth and hold out a jam-covered finger. He holds it out to her and she sucks the digit, humming in appreciation, enjoying the taste of the sweet and the darkness in John’s eyes. She’s suddenly not interested in his plans anymore. Staying here sounds like a good idea to her.

“It’s a surprise,” he finally says as he removes his finger and wipes it on the apron. “I can’t tell you.”

She groans, her frustration caused both by his insistence to keep his secret and the loss of his touch. He stands up and gathers the empty plates before reaching for the sink. “I’ll do the washing up, you… You should put a pair of sneakers on. And a scarf. And something against the rain.”

She frowns but obeys, her curiosity pricked.

x.

They took the car and after a few kilometers on the road, even if he hasn’t said a word about it, John’s destination becomes obvious: he’s heading to the sea. Although it’s slightly raining and the weather’s a bit cold, River feels excited. It’s been a while since she went to the beach, the last time she was out for a series of interviews and signings and she didn’t even have the opportunity to approach the sea. She feels like her body is buzzing in anticipation as they get closer, longing for the high and strong waves of autumn, the taste of salt on her lips and the mist sticking to her skin. She notices John is watching her as she realises what their destination is, and his childish manners must rub off on her because she can’t help but grin and bounce excitedly in the car.

It’s the first time someone has even taken her to the sea for a second date, but it makes John even more attractive. He doesn’t do anything like any other man would. He looks for special things to do with her and still surprises her. She feels she must get used to it and she should be scared to fall for him so easily but she’s not. Another surprise.

A few minutes more and finally John parks his car oceanfront, and River is out before he even turns off the engine. She almost runs to the pier, closing her eyes as thousands of droplets dampen her face, waves crashing at her feet. The wind blows a cold breeze, and she knows her curls will be a disaster after so much humidity, but right now she doesn’t care.

“You like your surprise, I guess?”

She turns back to see John walking in her direction, his fringe falling in and out of his eyes as the wind blows it. He smiles smugly, obviously proud she is enjoying herself so much, and she shouldn’t let him but she _is_ absolutely enjoying herself - thanks to him - so he has the right to be smug. “I do,” she agrees then and smiles back at him.

She makes the few steps that still separate them, reaching out for the lapel of the ridiculous oilskin he’s wearing and pulling him for a kiss. He responds instantly, his fingers curling around her arm protectively, and he lets her set the pace. It’s gentle and slow, familiar, as if she’s done it a thousand times before.

When she pulls back she takes his hand, lacing her fingers with his as she pulls him with her. “Come on,” she declares, “we have lots of things to do.”

They walk along the beach until the tide recedes far enough that they can sit down on the sand. River insists they remove their shoes and tests the water. It’s cold and she’s going to have sand in her socks for the rest of the day, but it’s totally worth the wince on John’s face when his toes come in contact with the water and he yelps that it’s freezing.

At noon they find a little restaurant, choosing a place close to both the window and the heating, where they can look at the sea and warm up as they eat seafood. Their fingers smell of fish and salt for the rest of the day.

After lunch they walk more, reaching the end of the beach and watching boats going in and out of the harbour. They buy hot pancakes for dessert, sitting on a bench as they eat. They stay there for a while, falling in a comfortable silence, their feet aching after their long walk, both tired by the sea air.

“You were right,” John suddenly says and River startles, realising she has almost fallen asleep on his shoulder. She turns her head to discover his face is grave.

“I was right about what?” she asks, wondering if she has slept after all and missed something.

John shakes his head and keeps his gaze on the sea in front of them, like he’s afraid to look at her. But his arm around her shoulders pressed her closer and she follows, curling against him. “In your book,” he finally speaks, “you wrote the Doctor is living a lonely life after all his family disappears, having only a few friends he can’t keep long, Melody the only person he trusts. And you were right about me on this.”

River holds her breath, feeling John is about to tell her one of his secrets and she’s afraid to interrupt the moment.

“Only a few people know, but I’ve lost my family too.” He pauses, finally looking at her and he seems relieved to realise she’s still here and not running away. She reaches out for his free hand and squeezes. “It was a long time ago. A car accident. I was sixteen and there was a girl, you know… I lied and pretended to be ill, sneaking out of the house as soon as their car was gone. My parents never came back home. And I should have been with them.”

River’s eyes fill up with tears as he spoke, incapable of imagining how hard it must have been for him, to be alone so young, to lose everything. and how hard it must be to tell her, now.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes out and his lips curl in a weak smile.

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault.”

“I don’t have any family either,” she replies to his confession by another, and surprise registers on his face. “I’m an orphan, always have been. The closest relative I have is my best friend. She helped me a lot, and I’ve always considered her my sister. When I was young I was angry and did a lot of silly things, had a lot of trouble… I think Melody has lots of my dark qualities. I never killed or harmed anybody, but if Amy hadn’t been with me, who knows what I would have become?”

“I would have come and saved you,” John jokes and she chuckles. He doesn’t know what it was like, young rebellious River against the world. But she feels better after that, and John relaxes too, like there’s not so much weight on him anymore. There’s just something he said, something she suddenly remembered and it must be a bit indiscreet, but she can’t help but ask.

“When you said… at one of your lectures, you said you didn’t believe we could travel in time and change things.”

“I did.” He nods and she feels like he knows what question she’s about to ask.

“What about… don’t you want to…” She doesn’t dare saying more, gesturing instead, realising it’s maybe too painful for him. But surprisingly he answers.

“I think maybe it’s easier to think that way. It helps me. I did try to change things when I was young, and like you I was angry with everything. I thought maybe I could go back and change my life… But it’s useless, and getting older I realised I don’t want to spend my life torturing myself with what if-s. What happened happened, I couldn’t change anything even if I wanted. But, in a way, it’s also reassuring…” He smiles at her and squeezes her hand. “It means we were meant to meet, and nothing would change that.”

She smiles back, deciding that he is right. Her life is not perfect and lots of bad things happened, but also lots of good things, and now John’s in her life and she wouldn’t change that. If all the pain before was a way for her to find him, it’s worth it.

Night starts to fall and the air is getting colder so they finally move, neither of them talking about their mutual confession but knowing it’s there, and in a way it makes them stronger. River enjoys the trust John showed her and she feels the same trust in him. It’s easier for them to talk after that, and she feels more secure in his presence, like she knows him more, like he truly became a part of her life today. She falls asleep on their way back home, lulled by John’s voice, the smell of the sea sticking on their skin and the salt against her lips.

It’s only when the engine is turned off that she wakes up, blinking in surprise as she realises they are back in town, and the car is parked just in front of her shop. She groans and rubs her eyes; she doesn’t want the day to be over, to come back home and start another week. Not yet.

“Hello, sleeping beauty.”

She yawns and stretches, trying to bring life back to her sleepy limbs. She feels John’s gaze on her as she does, and she turns her head, smiling.

“Would you carry me home, prince charming?”

He frowns and glances at the bookshop. “I’m not sure…”

“You don’t literally have to carry me up… Just come and have dinner with me. Or breakfast, I’m sure there’s still food from this morning and I won’t be able to eat everything alone.” He seems to hesitate and she sighs, using her last card. “Please…”

His lips curve into a smile and he raises a brow at her playfully. “Breakfast food for dinner, how can I say no?”

She beams at him and they get out of the car and into her flat. They end up in her sofa, eating the last eggs and sharing slices of bacon, and when there’s nothing left to eat they kiss, and kiss more. River isn’t sure who started it, but she’s totally aware of speeding up things when she suddenly moves John’s plate off his lap and straddles his hips instead, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. She’s tired of waiting.

“Wait,” he stops her and she mentally curses, rolling her eyes. “Are you… are you sure?”

“Yes.” She punctuates her word by rolling her hips against him and, according to what she feels, he’s more than sure of what he wants too.

“Isn’t it… aren’t you afraid of rushing things out?”

She laughs at that and he looks at her in confusion. She kisses his lips before replying, his fingers curling against the skin of her waist. “I’ve been waiting for more than a year. I don’t feel like we’re rushing anything.”

He smiles at her and nods. “I agree.”

He seems to get more confident after that, his kisses more insistent, his hands exploring her with more resolution. His fingers run up and down her back, squeezing her arse before dancing at the hem of her jeans. He finally slides under her shirt, stroking her stomach until she thinks she’ll go mad. She squirms against him and he finally moves again, his mouth kissing along her jaw while his hands reach for her breasts, palming them, weighing them, his fingers stroking them and she moans.

When the angle gets too awkward he pulls back a bit, kissing her lips again before he grabs the hem of her shirt and removes it, then unclips her bra and throws it away. The next second his hands and mouth are back on her and she closes her eyes, losing herself in the feeling of him against her, so close, finally.

He startles her when he suddenly pulls back and lifts her head so he can looks at her properly, worry in his eyes and she doesn’t understand.

“Are you okay, love?” he asks. “Are you cold? You’re shivering.”

She blinks in surprise before realising that, yes, he’s right, she’s cold, her whole body is trembling, her teeth almost clattering. “Yes, sorry. It must be because we were outside all day.”

“Don’t apologise.” He rubs warm hands on her freezing back. “I think we should take this somewhere warmer. Bed?”

She nods greedily, taking his hand as she gets up, almost rushing into the bedroom. She takes off her clothes and helps John out of his, until they’re naked and can finally slide under the covers. For a while they don’t move, just holding each other as River warms up, sharing lazy kisses while their hands stroke gently. After a moment they start exploring with more determination. She kisses his chest and her hands count his ribs, while his fingers dance along her spine, making her back arch. Other fingers come to her breasts, remembering what she likes from earlier and making her moan again. He hisses when she wraps a hand around his erection in reply and strokes, enjoying the way his cock twitches against her fingers as she does.

There’s no teasing anymore now, and River yelps in surprise as John pushes her until she lies on her back. He grins smugly, kissing his way down between her breasts, licking, nipping, biting her skin and she’s sure that he’ll leave marks. The possessiveness of the gesture and the anticipation of carrying traces of him on her skin for days make more desire pools inside her and she squirms more under him. He seems to take the hint, one of his hands moving down, her legs parting for him as he reaches for her already wet folds and she gasps in pleasure. He explores her slowly, almost too slowly, looking for what makes her melt, stroking and pressing until she can’t bear it anymore.

“John, please, want you,” she pants and his movements stop. She feels empty for the briefest second when his hands move from between her thighs, but then he’s settling between her legs, his cock brushing against her entrance. He looks up at her, silently asking for her agreement for a last time and she nods. She’s more than ready. He presses his forehead against hers, then tilts his hips just so and finally he’s inside her, and they both moan as he fills her perfectly.

River loses all senses of time as they move, their bodies finding a unique rhythm that belongs to them only. They roll and swing, their dance punctuated by breathless whispers and low moans. She comes almost by surprise, her body and soul overwhelmed by all the sensations and feelings of the moment. John follows soon after, while she strokes his back and murmurs words of love into his ears.

They only move to settle more comfortably, and River falls asleep almost immediately, snuggling against his chest and his arms around her waist.


	18. Chapter 18

“Do you like dancing?” John asks her one day. It’s late one evening and they are eating on her sofa in only their dressing gowns. It’s been a few weeks since they started seeing each other and it’s like they’re almost living together already. During the day they work, River at the bookshop or on her new novel, John with his classes, and at night they meet at her flat or his, chatting, eating, making love, or just falling in bed and snuggling until exhaustion sees them fast asleep. The week-ends are spent out, visiting galleries, shopping in town, or just staying in and doing nothing. They have fallen into habits very quickly, and it must be a bit domestic already but River doesn’t mind. She loves being with him and they always find something new to do. Although, dancing is a first.

“What kind of dancing? Dirty dancing?” She winks at him and he slightly blushes - she seems to have this effect on him, even after all these weeks.

“No, like going to a ball.”

“A ball?”

“Yes, a ball. The Uni organises one every year for Christmas. It’s a bit old-fashioned but the donors like it… And it’s a couple of days before Christmas itself, so don’t worry we’ll be able to go to Amy and meet this secret fiancé of hers,” he teases her and she smacks his arm. John knows how curious she is since Amy announced a few days ago that she is getting married this summer, and didn’t want to say who the lucky boy was.

“You’re sure you want me to go?” she decides to ignore his comment. “Do you really want people to meet the crazy girl who stalked you for months and writes bad novels for her living?”

“Don’t mock the novel! I’m the hero of one of them,” he sounds hurt and she chuckles.

“You’re not. I am, you’re just a… detail.”

“Oi!”

He tickles her in defence and for a while they forget all about dances or dinner.

This is how River finds herself a few days later back at the University in high heels and shimmering dress, her arm locked with John’s. He looks smart with his black tuxedo and for once his hair seems to be tamed, his fringe not falling upon his eyes every time he moves and she almost misses it. It’s freezing outside but the room is warm, and already crowded. She follows John, meeting colleagues of his and forgetting their names instantly. Some of them recognise her but most of the time they only throw her an appreciative look before focusing back on John.

She leaves him after a while, while he’s buried in a conversation with another Physics Professor and she can’t understand a word they say (she got lost after the word equation and since then it got worse and worse). She squeezes his arm before walking away, wandering around the room. She picks up a few things in the buffet and says a few hellos, and just when she looks around her, a bit lost and looking for something to do, a man approaches.

“Would you like to dance?”

He holds a hand out and she glances at the dance floor, then at John still talking, before accepting the offer. They step in the middle of other couples dancing, one of his hands in hers and the other settling on her hip (in a decent way, River approves).

"I'm Sean," the guy starts as they sway, "technical services. And you are?"

"River."

"And which department are you from, River? I don't think I've seen you before?"

"Oh, no, I'm not from the university. I came with John. Professor Smith," she hastily rectifies, "Department of Physics." She waves her head in the direction of where John and his colleague are still speaking, and she can't help but notice that since she’s with another man he glances every now and then at her. Sean seems to soften as he spots him, all the flirting in his voice totally disappearing as he replies.

"Oh, yes, I know John. I see him every now and then. Computer issues, things he breaks... you know him."

River agrees and laughs at that. They had to buy new glasses last week because he had broken almost all of hers. He’s still as clumsy as he was the day they met.

"It's the first time John’s brought one of his friends with him," Sean continues, and she feels contradictory feelings at that. She's happy, in a possessive way, to be the first one he shows off, but at the same time sad for him that he hasn't known anyone to bring here before her. After his confession the other day, she knows his life was the lonely kind before her. "I'm more than a friend..." she clarifies.

"So, you and him are..." Sean continues, and River smiles.

"Together, exactly."

Sean glances at John and she's surprised to see the look of fondness in his eyes. It isn't what she expected, especially coming from another man. "I'm happy for him. And for you of course. But for him. He deserves something good in his life, and you'll be good for him, right?"

She nods. She can't promise anything because she doesn't know what the future will bring, but she will try everything she can to be a good thing in his life - and he the one in hers.

They don't say anything else after, just enjoying the music as they dance. They're in the middle of the second song when John interrupts them, clearing his throat. Sean smiles at him, letting go of River's almost immediately and John barely has to ask. "Can I?"

"She's all yours," Sean replies, winking at River as he steps away. She squeezes his hand in thanks before reaching out for John. His fingers automatically curl around hers while his other hand settles on her hips and she can feel the possessiveness in his gesture. She doesn't dislike it. She turns to bid Sean a good night but the man is already far away.

"So, who was it?" John asks and she laughs.

"You know who it was. Sean, he fixes things for you every day."

John snorts at that, his grip tightening on her. He mumbles something in reply she can't hear.

"Are you jealous, sweetie?" she inquires.

"No! Of course I'm not. Why would I be?" He answers too quickly to be honest and she laughs more.

"You're cute when you're jealous," she adds fondly. And it's true.

"I'm not..." he starts but then huffs in defeat. But he feels relaxed in her arms and for a moment they don't talk, just enjoying the proximity of each other as they swing with the music.

"So... what did Sean tell you?" he asks eventually.

"Nothing."

"Liar. I saw you speaking. What did you tell him then?"

She turns her head, making sure she faces him properly. She just wants to erase his insecurity and barely thinks as she replies, unaware of the words she says before she can hear them. "I told him I love you."

John tenses, but then his eyes soften and a smile appears on his face. "Did you?"

"No," she answers and that's not a lie, "but I've just told you."

John's fingers caress her skin softly, his gaze deep and so fond she doesn't regret her words. Maybe it wasn't the right moment with all the people around her and the lack of intimacy, but she's glad she's said it.

"I love you too," he finally replies. She grins, feeling like her heart is ready to explode, and she really regrets they're in the middle of a crowd (John's colleagues’ crowd to be exact) when he leans in and kisses her. She wants to tear his clothes off him and shag him and his stupid face and jealousy right there on the dance floor.

"We should leave," she murmurs when they part, breathless.

"We've just arrived," he points out but she knows, his eyes tell her he wants her as much as she wants him.

"I know. But there are too many people here for the things I want to do to you." She highlights her words by pressing her hips just so, and he groans in reply.

"Woman, you'll be the death of me."

He grabs her hand and stops dancing, pulling her after him, and they sneak out the party like teenagers, running home as fast as they can.

x.                                                                                               

When River awakes the next morning she opens her eyes to a cold sun, snow falling gently and sticking at the window before melting down. She loses herself looking at it for a moment, before stretching and yawning. She shivers as her arms are hit by the cold air of the room and she turns around, trying to snuggle up to the warm body next to her. Except she's alone. She sighs and rubs her eyes, pulling the duvet tighter around her. She can hear John rummaging in the kitchen and she doesn't understand how he can already be moving and doing things when all she wants is to close her eyes and go back to sleep - or tug him to bed with her and warm up.

She drifts in and out of sleep for a while, before eventually the door of the room opens and John enters. He sits upon the cover and she smiles, brushing her curls away to look at him properly.

"Good morning," he says, before leaning in to press a kiss upon her lips and she sighs. She can't get tired of him; his lips, his touch, his strong hands upon her neck, his stubble scratching her skin. She likes everything.

"Good morning," she replies sleepily.

"Breakfast's ready," he announces and she groans, hiding her head back under the duvet.

"'s too early," she grumbles and he laughs in reply. But he doesn't insist and she can feel the mattress pulling back into place as he stands up.

"Come back to bed," she asks him loud enough so her voice crosses the heavy covers.

"Two seconds,"

He doesn't leave the room and she can hear him, walking then rummaging in the wardrobe, cursing as he can't find what he's looking for. She keeps her eyes open under the sheets, wondering what he's doing. She's about to sit up and watch him when he cries in victory. He then pulls the cover and sits (almost bounces she notices) on the bed next to her. She pulls a surprised face out of the warmth of the sheets and glances at him, to discover he’s holding out a wrapped gift.

"Merry Christmas," he says and she frowns.

"Christmas isn’t for two days," she points out but he keeps smiling.

"I know. But in two days we'll be with Amy and I know she'll ask lots of questions if she sees this and I wanted to give it to you in private."

River's curiosity is pricked and she sits up, settling comfortably close to John before taking the gift. She examines it closely; it's long but flat and weighs a bit, the contents hidden by a blue paper and a red ribbon. It looks like all the gifts in the world but she feels like there's something familiar about it that she can't remember.

"Is it a book?" she tries and John just smiles.

"Open it."

She raises her brow at him, something different in his eyes and she wonders what kind of book it is to make him look like that. She finally tears it open and for the next seconds the only sound in the room is the scratching of the wrapping paper, until the gift is finally revealed to her.

"Oh my god..." she gasps and one of her hands comes to cover her mouth in surprise. “Are you... Really?"

She knows now why the gift has seemed familiar. She was the one packing it months ago. She is holding _History of telephone boxes_ , the same book John bought the first time she had met him.

John's smile grows wider as she stares at the book, unable to say a word.

"Remember when I told you I would have bought anything that first day so I could talk to you? Well... I did. Then I kept it and hoped one day I'll be able to open it with you. I never realised it would bring us so much luck - you, your book. Us. Maybe we should frame it and hang it on the wall..."

"John, this is..." River can't believe this is happening, that she's holding that book in her hands. It's the proof of his love for her. A reminder of their twisted story. The moment when everything started. "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything."

Before she can blink John grabs her neck and kisses her. She responds immediately, wriggling next to him, letting go of the book that drops on the duvet. Her hands free, she reaches for him, her fingers curling around his bicep, pulling him close. He moans and she sighs, barely breathing while their mouths part and then meet again.

The angle is a bit awkward and not close enough, so she squirms until she sits on his lap. She can hear the book falling on the floor as the covers move down her body and she finds herself bareback. But she isn't cold like she was earlier. John's arms are around her and she's pressed against his chest, his whole body keeping her warm. In fact she feels like she’s burning from inside, a fire he’s set up and is the only one to know how to put out. She rocks her hips desperately against him, her hands letting go of his arms to fumble with the boxers he’d put on when he got out of bed earlier. She finally manages to pull it aside enough to free him, and if she believes the pressure of his cock against her belly, already hard and twitching into her hands, he’s as eager as she is.

They break the kiss as she pumps him once, twice, just for good measure before she aligns herself with him, and then he stops her.

“River.”

She groans in frustration, her whole body screaming for him and she doesn’t know how he can bear to restrain himself now. “John,” she begs more than says. He surprises her, his hand coming to rest of her cheek and he strokes it with an infinite tenderness.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, his voice trembling a bit and she doesn’t know if it’s because of the tension of his body or the sincerity of the confession. They have said it a lot after her first time yesterday, but it’s still new for both of them and sends a new thrill through her whole body.

She kisses him gently, sinking down around him until he’s buried deep inside of her. “I know,” she whispers finally, his body trembling in reply. She doesn’t know how they manage not to come instantly, the physical proximity and the depth of their feelings almost too much already.

They start to rock together, slowly then more frantically, their movements punctuated by other words of love, until eventually she comes, trembling as John almost immediately follows her. They don’t move for a while, sharing kisses and enjoying their intimacy. On the floor, the _History of telephone boxes_ is waiting for them, and River thinks it is one of her best Christmas gifts.


	19. Chapter 19

It is June, two years after John first entered River’s shop, in a time that seemed so close and at the same time so far away. River's life has changed a lot since that day, but is not completely different. She still owns the bookshop, except now people know and recognise her, asking for her signature on her book. It seems like the success of the novel also made the shop more popular and she had to hire a full-time extra to do all the new work. She is still writing novels, except everybody is waiting for them; she was even in discussion over a movie, possibly a series, based on Melody and the Doctor’s adventures. She isn’t sure what she will say yet. It all happened so fast and she isn’t totally used to the attention.

Her professional life has changed, but more than that her personal life is totally different to what it used to be. She still lives in the flat above her store, only she’s not alone anymore. A man’s clothes have taken half of her cupboards, another toothbrush is standing next to hers in the bathroom, along with cologne and blue razors and mint shower gel, papers about physics covered by lots of equations laid on the desk between her manuscripts, a delicious mix of her things and John’s and she likes it this way. It brought stability to her life, filling a hole she wasn’t even aware was there.

They have learnt to know each other, not only from far away but by living together and loving each other. They sometimes think about that year they spent not daring to talk to each other, hiding instead, afraid of their own feelings, and it all seems ridiculous now. River still feels a bit guilty about it, regretting the waste of time it was (by her fault she always adds), and John takes it more calmly, laughing about it, explaining they needed this time. He always adds it was how it was supposed to happen - and they shouldn’t complain, because it is a happy ending after all, isn’t it? And if people ask them how they met, they smile knowingly and explain it’s fate.

It is maybe fate that also finds them today, standing in a local church. Amy is getting married, River’s her bridesmaid and the role mostly consisted in signing the papers and holding out a tissue to the bride each time she cries (which happens a lot). John is by her side, wearing his smartest tuxedo and a smile so bright River forgets the lack of sun. She is glad he absolutely gets along with her friend, and he has admitted one day that he has found in her and the Ponds (and now Rory, Amy’s newly husband that John absolutely refuses to call anything but Mister Pond - _it’s how it works for me_ he declares) the family he lost a long time ago. She doesn’t think he can make her happier than she already is.

After the official ceremony comes dinner, and then the party, and John spends hours dancing with the children, if dancing really applies to the weird gestures he insists to make. River laughs as she watches him and Amy snorts. “How can you live with such a ridiculous animal? I hope he isn’t as clumsy in the bedroom as he is on the dance floor…” River gasps and smacks her friend on the arm and then giggles with her as they comment on his next choreography.

When the tune changes and a slow dance begins, John abandons the children and bows in front of River before taking her hand to drag her onto the dance floor. He seems to get all his balance back as he swings with her in rhythm with the music, his hands warm on her back and his head resting close her head and half into her hair. She sighs and wraps her arms more tightly around his neck as she kisses him, feeling like everything is perfect and it can’t be better.

When they are tired of dancing they exit the room, taking fresh air outside, the sound of the music echoing in their ears. They just stay there, looking at the sky, close to each other. John’s hand squeezes hers and she squeezes back.

“Are you married, River?” he asks after a while and she blinks in surprise. The question is a bit clumsy and unexpected, but she knows him now and she is almost sure what he really means.

“Are you asking?” she replies by another question then.

“Yes.”

She beams, her heart beating madly in her chest as he replies.

“Yes.” She wants to shout the word, say it again and again, scream it to the world. But instead of the joy she expected to read on John’s face, he blushes and fumbles.

“No, hang on. Did you think I was asking you to marry me or asking if you were married?”

“Yes!” It seems to be the only word she can say, her brain and her heart bursting with joy as the poor John seems more embarrassed than ever.

“No but was it a yes or a yes?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Yes. Yes. You idiot, of course it’s a yes.” She throws her hands around his neck and kisses him, and she can feel the sigh of relief he lets out. “Next time, just ask me directly.”

He smiles, mumbling an apology but she doesn’t care. She kisses him again, murmuring other _yes_ , and _of course I’ll marry you, idiot_ when she pulls back every now and then to breathe.

She feels like she’s been living a dream since she met him, a life that only happens in books; and she doesn’t know how this story is going to end, but if she had to choose, she thinks _‘and they live happily ever after’_ will suit them perfectly.

_the end._


End file.
